


The Watcher and the Warrior

by superhoney



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A Classic Tale of Good Vs Evil, Almost everybody lives, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Anal Sex, Bottom Dean, Chance Meetings, Drama, Fantasy Violence, Guard Dean, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Intrigue, M/M, Magic, Magic User Castiel, Magically-Enhanced Sex, Minor Character Death, Minor Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Oral Sex, Profound Bond, Romance, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 15:42:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 108,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8333227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superhoney/pseuds/superhoney
Summary: The kingdom of Esporia has been at peace for many years, under the protection of five powerful enchanters known as the Watchers. From his tower in the east of the kingdom, Castiel, the Weather Watcher, controls the winds and the rains, and never expects to be needed for anything more.
In the capital city, Dean Winchester, long-serving member of the Royal Guard, is due to be elevated to the rank of Captain, rewarded for his dedication and leadership these many years. 
But as dark forces begin to move against the kingdom, a chance meeting will bring these two men together, and their destinies will collide in ways neither of them could ever have predicted.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I have several notes.
> 
> \- This is a fantasy story, in an entirely made-up world, with its own magic systems and political climate. But it's a deliberately dialogue-heavy, battle-light fantasy, so if you're looking for grimdark, you won't find it here.  
> \- There is minor character death in this story, and I will note which chapter it occurs in when that time comes. But remember, it's a mostly happy story.  
> 
> 
> A massive thank-you to my beta, Anna, for your tireless support and enthusiasm over the course of writing this thing, for catching my typos and hand-holding and idea-sharing and everything else. I honestly couldn't have done it without you. Hope you all enjoy this, it's been so much fun to write.

_Long before the towers were built and the books were collected and the mirrors were polished, the kingdom knew no peace, only chaos._

_As the wars raged, and families were torn apart for no reason other than blind desire for power, one individual dreamed of a way to protect the kingdom, to prevent such destruction from ever occurring again._

_The history books have lost the name of this individual. Or maybe they never wished it to be known. Their legacy speaks for them._

_The first tower was built only miles from the capital city, and one of the king’s generals was given the task of studying military magic along with battle strategy. Using what he learned, he brought the wars to an end. The Red Tower remains to this day the home of the Military Watcher, oldest and most honoured of the five._

_But ending the war was not enough to heal the kingdom. The second tower was built in the most fertile valley, and a local farmer was charged with studying agricultural magic, to replenish the crops and keep the people from starving. The Gold Tower shines the brightest, promising a plentiful harvest and a full belly for every citizen._

_And those citizens needed more than food in their bellies to recover from the damage of the wars. So, in a quiet southern corner of the kingdom, the third tower was built. Its first overseer had been an army doctor, and knew much about treating wounds, but her knowledge was supplemented by the magic collected there. The Blue Tower offers comfort in times of illness, and protects against the epidemics that ravaged the kingdom during the years of conflict._

_That conflict did not only affect the human inhabitants of the kingdom. Many animals, great and small, were driven away by the constant fighting, and so in the middle of the great wood, they built the Green Tower, to watch over the other species who shared the land with the humans. An act of contrition, and a reminder that our actions do not affect only ourselves, the Green Tower humbles us all._

_And finally, once all the other towers had been built, the architect looked to the sky, and knew that their work was not yet complete. All of their careful work could be undone with a mere bolt of lightning. And so they built the Grey Tower at the base of the mighty mountain range, and filled it with knowledge of weather magic. The power to control the rains and the heat, the wind and the cold. The last of the Watchtowers, but far from the least._

_And though the names of those who fought for power during those wars were lost, and though many of the families who survived have now died out, and though we have forgotten the name of the architect, if indeed we ever knew it at all, the five towers still stand, and five Watchers gaze upon us still._

***

Castiel is bored.

It’s a common predicament for him, and he’s already run through his list of potential cures, so he makes no further effort to change his situation. He remains seated at the desk, poring over the immense and detailed map, occasionally glancing up to check one of the hundreds of mirrors adorning the grey stone walls of his tower.

He sighs and runs a hand through his dark hair. It’s getting long again. Perhaps it’s time for a trim. That would give him something to focus on, at least. He could even do it by hand, rather than by magic, just for the novelty of it. It would be far less neat if he used scissors instead of a spell, but it would also take longer. Or he could just sit here and think about it instead. 

Castiel spends a lot of time sitting and thinking.

He exhales loudly and stands up. Maybe he’ll run up and down the stairs a few times to clear his head. It’s his preferred method of cardiovascular activity, supplementing his daily stretches. The tower doesn’t provide him with many other ways to keep his body in good physical condition. It wasn’t designed with that in mind. His purpose here is to watch, to observe, and to intervene when necessary. 

But the sun is shining, the air is crisp with only a gentle breeze, and Castiel, Weather Watcher of the Kingdom of Esporia, is bored.

He hasn’t left the Grey Tower in days. He’s not supposed to leave for more than a few hours. His entire life is bound to the protection of the kingdom, and that requires constant (or at least, near-constant) vigilance. He mostly goes out to gather food, though he can procure it from inside the tower using spellwork. His tower was built in one of the least hospitable regions of the kingdom, meaning that there is only one village nearby. Even if he was permitted to form social connections, it would be difficult to do so. 

And so Castiel is not only bored, but also lonely. 

He can contact the other Watchers, of course. Communication between the Watchtowers is necessary to keep the kingdom running smoothly. Not all of their conversations are strictly business-related, however. They all need companionship now and again, and who better to understand the strange position they find themselves in? Charged with the protection of the kingdom and yet cut off from it. 

He would never admit it to them, but as much comfort and support as they provide, Castiel is a bit tired of only speaking to his fellow Watchers. 

He never considered himself a particularly social person. That was partially why he had been chosen to become a Watcher. A shy, bookish child, he made the perfect apprentice. When Anna, the previous Weather Watcher, had come to fetch him from his village in the western reaches of the kingdom, he hadn’t hesitated to go with her. The Watcher selected the next apprentice, yes, but the apprentice could refuse the position. Of course, it was considered a dishonourable thing to do, but it did happen on occasion. Not so for Castiel. He said goodbye to his parents and to his old barn cat, packed a few meager possessions, and set out with Anna just days before his twelfth birthday. 

Castiel glances at the calendar on the wall. It’s early September, meaning that it’s been almost exactly twenty years since he rode away from his village to become a Watcher. Most days, it feels more like two hundred years. Today, it feels like two thousand.

A flash of movement in one of the mirrors distracts him from his thoughts. He stands up from the desk and crosses the room, muttering under his breath. The mirror ripples for a second, and then clears, showing him a roaring cascade of water. The Great Falls, just outside the capital city of Veridia. Castiel frowns at the image, squinting to see if the water level is abnormally high or low for this time of year. In the bottom corner of the mirror, he catches sight of a pair of legs, long, with a slight outward curve. He taps the mirror once and murmurs a word, and the mirror ripples again. 

He can see the surrounding area a bit better now, and he can the rest of the body that is attached to those legs. Castiel blinks, his mouth suddenly going dry. The man is breathtaking. There’s no other word Castiel can think of to properly convey his beauty. 

He also looks incredibly irritated.

The man stalks off along the riverbank, and a few seconds later, another man enters the frame, following after him. This one is a few years younger, and a few inches taller. While attractive in his own right, he doesn’t make Castiel’s heart skip a beat in quite the same way as the first man did. He watches them for a few more minutes, entranced by the way the first man’s eyes flash with emotion. He can’t tell their exact colour, but they’re so expressive, he finds himself unable to look away. The two men are arguing quite vehemently, and Cas wonders what it is that is causing this fight. Are they lovers? It seems likely. They obviously care about one another, from what Castiel can tell from their body language. 

After a few more minutes, the first man’s shoulders slump in defeat, and he looks down towards the ground, hiding his face from Castiel’s view. The other man approaches with caution and places a hand on his shoulder, and when it isn’t thrown off, pulls him into an embrace. Castiel sighs wistfully and looks away. Whatever the reason for their quarrel, it seems that their affection for one another has won out. 

Castiel adjusts the field of vision on the mirror with another whispered spell, his gaze travelling down to where the water tumbles over the cliffs and rejoins the river at the base of the falls. Nothing seems out of order, so why had the mirror lit up? Castiel can use the mirrors as he needs, but they’re also enchanted to show him situations that could potentially require his interference. He vows to pay close attention to the rainfall over the next few days, and to monitor the Great Falls closely. 

At least it will give him something to do.

He checks on the waterfall again before he goes to sleep. Fortunately, the moon is bright enough to see by. Everything still seems fine, but one of the basic requirements of being a Watcher, Anna had taught him, is an overdeveloped sense of caution. Castiel fails to see how this can be true, as Gabriel, the Wildlife Watcher, is the farthest thing from cautious imaginable. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that, generally speaking, the weather is far more unpredictable than the animals they share the kingdom with. Castiel sets up a spell to warn him if anything changes, and leaves the mirror on the Falls active. He then walks slowly around the room, renewing the enchantments on all the other mirrors that cover the round walls of the tower. 

He does this every night, and yet he never tires of it. It’s a heady feeling, the power that comes with being a Watcher, strengthened by the responsibility and respectability of the role. Castiel has something most people only long for: both a mission, and the power required to undertake it. No matter how lonely his life is, stuck in this tower, he wouldn’t trade his position for any other. He chose this life. What he does is important. 

He tells himself this over and over again as he tries to fall asleep, his wide bed feeling empty, the cool breeze from the open windows skittering across his skin like the phantom touch of an invisible lover. 

_This is worth the cost._

In the morning, Castiel wakes to the sound of rain.

He curses and hauls himself out of bed. Fortunately he had noticed the clouds gathering the night before and made sure to close the opening in the roof of the tower, otherwise he would have been more rudely awakened. He walks quickly around his bedroom, shutting all the windows. Then he sighs and clomps gracelessly down to his workroom one level below.

The Grey Tower is made entirely of stone, solid and imposing even against the dramatic backdrop of the mountain range that spreads behind it. A winding staircase joins each floor to the next, and each floor serves its own purpose. At the very top is Castiel’s bedchamber, with windows on all sides and an opening in the roof that, when opened, almost makes him forget that he’s still indoors. Below that is the workroom, where he spends most of his time. It is here that he observes the kingdom’s weather patterns, and intervenes when necessary. 

Below the workroom is the library, Castiel’s favourite level in the tower. He has many books in the workroom, of course, but even more are stored here. The walls are almost completely covered with shelves, broken only by the windows with their built-in reading seats. Most of the books relate to his position, but some are there just for enjoyment, and on peaceful days, Castiel spends hours reading them, again and again.

Next is the apprentice’s chamber. That room has stood empty for ten years, since Castiel took up the reins of Watcher and moved into the bedroom at the top of the tower. He keeps it tidy, mostly as a way to distract himself on days when he has little else to do, but never spends any amount of time there. Not anymore. 

One flight down from there is the bathing chamber. In any typical dwelling, it would be inconvenient to have one’s bathing area several flights of stairs away from one’s sleeping chambers, but as Castiel has few other options for exercise, he considers it a good thing that he has some distance between those two most necessary rooms.

Finally, on the lowest level, is the kitchen. The fire burning there is enchanted, so Castiel doesn’t have to worry about it when he’s occupied on another level of the tower. It’s the most normal of the floors, and when he’s there, he can almost pretend he lives in any old house. One like the house he grew up in, before he came here. There’s a small table in the corner where he eats his meals on occasion, though he likes to take them upstairs with him most of the time. The table has two chairs, and staring across at the empty one always makes him feel even more alone. 

And that’s it. His entire world, contained within these grey stone walls. He can see so much of the kingdom from here, with all of his maps and mirrors, but this is all that’s allotted to him. 

Sometimes Castiel wonders if his years of working weather magic have made more susceptible to mood changes in tune with the changes in weather conditions. The rain seems to be making him even more gloomy than usual. Anna would have laughed at him, teasing him about his grumpiness until he finally cracked a smile. But Anna is gone, and there is no one left to coax him into a good mood.

Grumbling to himself, he taps on the mirror that had shown him the Great Falls the night before. He inspects the water level as closely as he can, and still finds no cause for alarm. It isn’t even raining in that area of the kingdom. Maybe he’s being too dramatic.

He is about to turn away when something catches his eye, again in the lower corner of the mirror. He enhances the image, and is startled to see the same man from the day before. The first one, the handsome one. This time, he appears to be alone. He’s perched on a rock right beside the river, just as it tumbles away over the cliff in a rush of water. He looks sad. Maybe the fight Castiel had witnessed the day before had continued. 

Castiel watches the man anxiously for a few minutes. The look on his face is troubling. The man looks close to Castiel’s own age, maybe a few years younger. He is attractive, and he seems to be in good health. Castiel wonders what has brought such a tragic expression to his face. As the man turns his head to look over his shoulder, Castiel catches a glimpse of the tunic he wears under his cloak. It’s white, emblazoned with a fiery red sun. The emblem of the royal house. The man is a member of the Royal Guard, it appears. 

If the Watchers are responsible for the major concerns of the kingdom, then the Royal Guard is responsible for the minor concerns, the day-to-day affairs of the kingdom and its people. Though they mostly live and work in the capital, they have outposts throughout the kingdom, dedicated to keeping the peace. Castiel admires them greatly, though most of what he knows about them comes from books or stories Anna told him when he first came to live with her at the tower. He has vague recollections of a guardsman passing through his village when he was a child, but mostly he remembers the red sun on the man’s tunic, just like the one worn by the man sitting beside the river. 

Castiel continues to watch the man, who shows no signs of moving. Slowly, Castiel relaxes. Perhaps he’s more pensive than despondent. He keeps looking over his shoulder as though he expects someone to join him. The man from the day before, the tall one? Whoever it is, they never appear, and eventually the man sighs and heaves himself to his feet. He takes one last look at the falls, and then walks away, out of Castiel’s sight.

Castiel hopes that the man will be content. That his dark mood will pass, and that he will live to serve the kingdom another day, to make his lover laugh again. Likely, Castiel will never see him again.

And Castiel will never learn what colour those wonderfully expressive eyes really are.

_He’s just a man_ , Castiel tells himself. There’s thousands of them in the kingdom. What makes this one so special? Castiel knows next to nothing about him, so why does he feel this strange pull towards him? It’s nonsensical, so he resolves to stop thinking about him. 

He has other, better things to concern himself with. September is a busy time for the Watchers. Every time the seasons change, they all work together to ensure a smooth transition. He should reach out to the others today. It will be good to hear their voices. To see their faces in his mirrors. 

Hopefully, it will be enough to drive away the memory of the guardsman.

***

Dean Winchester curses under his breath as he searches his room for his scabbard. He knows he’d thrown it on the floor the night before when he undressed before bed, but now it’s nowhere to be found. He pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales deeply, trying to calm himself. It’s an important day. He just has to remain composed, and he can get through this.

He’s officially being promoted today. The youngest member of the Royal Guard to ever attain the rank of Captain. Just thirty years old, and he’ll be in charge of three other men and women of the guard.

And he can’t find his damn scabbard.

Still cursing, Dean heads out to the main area of the small house. His brother looks up from his breakfast and frowns at him. “Shouldn’t you be gone already?” Sam asks.

“Can’t find my scabbard,” Dean grumbles, searching through the pile of boots in the entranceway.

Sam clears his throat pointedly. Dean turns to scowl at him, and then looks down at the table, where the scabbard is sitting in plain sight. “What the hell? Where did that come from?” Dean walks over and picks the scabbard up. It feels slightly different in his hand.

“I made a few adjustments,” Sam says, a trace of nervousness in his voice. “Here, look.” He turns it over, showing Dean the etchings that definitely weren’t there the night before. Carved into the leather are the words Captain Dean Winchester in Sam’s flowing script. Dean traces over the letters with one hand, his bad mood dissipating. “Thanks, Sammy,” he murmurs, his throat tight.

“I’m really proud of you, Dean,” Sam says, and his voice is steadier now. “Dad would have been proud of you too.”

Dean makes a face at his brother’s words, but he knows that Sam is right. Nothing would have made John Winchester happier than to know that his eldest son was following in his footsteps by serving in the Royal Guard. John had passed away shortly after Dean’s sixteenth birthday, and Dean had signed up for the Guard almost immediately afterward. He claims that it was a simple way to provide for himself and Sam, who found themselves unexpectedly orphaned, but really, it was his own way of honouring his father’s memory. 

Sam, however, hadn’t been too happy about Dean’s decision at first. He worried that Dean was too young, too inexperienced. Never mind that Dean’s weapon training was mostly a formality. The kingdom has been at peace for years. Most of the Guard’s work involves catching petty criminals or tracking down escaped livestock, not fighting battles. Eventually, Sam came to realize how well-suited Dean is to the role, and stopped berating him for his decision. He refused to join the Guard when he turned sixteen, though, choosing to study at the university instead. He wants to help people in other ways, and is about to finish a degree in law. 

Considering how disapproving Sam had been in the beginning, it means a lot to Dean to have his brother’s support now. 

Securing the scabbard securely around his waist, Dean turns and pulls on his boots, which he had polished the night before. “See you at the ceremony?” he asks as he pulls open the door. Things have been a bit tense between the brothers lately, but he knows Sam will still be there to support him today.

“You might not see us among the crowd of admirers, but you’ll definitely hear us,” Sam jokes. 

“Tell Jess to cheer extra loud for me,” Dean says, and then he’s out the door.

He sets off at a brisk walk, heading towards the centre of the city, where the Guard’s barracks are located. He’ll be on horseback for the actual ceremony, but technically, his horse belongs to the Guard and not to him, so she’s stabled there. Then it’s just a short ride over to the palace grounds, where the king himself will confirm his promotion to the rank of Captain in front of the entire Guard and probably half of the residents of the city

The kingdom is prosperous, the capital is calm, and the members of the Royal Guard are beloved by the people. And Dean, particularly so. 

He hears a few cheers from his neighbours as he walks down the city streets, and he wishes he had time to stop, but he settles for a smile and a wave to everyone he passes. Dean has lived in Veridia his whole life. He knows these streets, he knows these people. He’s proud to protect them. 

He sneaks in through the back door of the Guard’s stables, simply because he has no time to chat with whoever happens to be on duty. Impala sticks her head out over her stall door and whinnies a greeting. Dean smiles at the familiar sight, stroking the white patch on her head as he opens her stall door and gets her properly saddled up. 

“Hey, Baby,” he croons softly as he adjusts her tack. “Big day today.” Impala may be her real name, but to Dean, she’ll always be Baby. Her sire was John’s horse when he was a member of the Guard. She’s family. 

Once Baby is properly equipped, Dean swings himself up into the saddle and sails out of the stables, his fellow guards cheering as he races past them. He waves to them without looking back. There will be plenty of time to celebrate later. 

Mere minutes later, Dean rides up to the palace grounds. Two members of the Guard snap to attention, then relax slightly when they see it’s him. “Winchester,” the taller of the two drawls. “You’re late.”

“Am not,” Dean mutters. “I’m barely on time, but I’m on time. So I don’t have time to stand around talking to the likes of you, Benny.”

“Ooooh, watch it,” the other guard says, laughing. “You’re not officially Captain yet, Dean.” Jo’s eyes light up with mischief, always happy to have an opportunity to tease Dean.

“Close enough,” Dean shrugs. “You guys coming to watch, or did you get stuck out here the whole time?” 

“Actually, we’re your escort,” Jo informs him, adjusting her position so that she’s standing to the right of and slightly behind Impala. Benny mirrors her stance on Dean’s other side. He feels a bit strange about having two of his oldest and closest friends walking beside him while he rides, but it’s mostly ceremonial. They’ve just proven that nothing will really change between them despite Dean’s new rank.

So Dean holds his head high as he guides Impala into the amphitheatre. The crowd breaks into applause as soon as they see him, and they start tossing bunches of flowers in his general direction. Most of them land nowhere close to him, but he manages to snatch one out of the air, presses it to his face dramatically, then tosses it back into the crowd. Benny snorts. “A bit much, don’t you think?” he asks.

“Nah, they love it,” Dean replies, smiling and waving, though his attention is fixed on the small group of people, also on horseback, waiting at the centre of the amphitheatre. As he gets closer, Jo and Benny come to a halt, leaving him to ride up alone. 

Dean’s hands are steady on the reins as he approaches. He halts Impala right before the others, and a hush falls over the crowd. Dean lifts his head and meets the eyes of the King.

King Charles of Esporia is a short man, but being on horseback helps hide that. His blue eyes twinkle as he looks at Dean, his curly brown hair slightly out of place underneath his heavy golden crown. “Welcome,” he says, addressing the crowd as a whole. “We are gathered here today to celebrate and honour the accomplishments of one of the most distinguished members of our Royal Guard-- this man before you, Dean Winchester.”

The crowd dissolves into cheers and applause again, but when the king raises a hand, they fall silent once more. He smiles benevolently. “We are greatly pleased with your service,” he says formally. “And now, we ask Commander Singer to come forward.”

The king draws back slightly, and Dean turns his attention to the man beside him, who has been silent up until now. Commander Singer is an old friend of the Winchester family, and he served with John before his death. He had done his best to look after Sam and Dean after they were orphaned. Dean finds it hard to think of him as Commander in his mind, though he never hesitates to obey him. In his head, he’s just Bobby. Though he normally adopts a stoic expression, Dean can see the pride on Bobby’s face as he turns towards him.

“In recognition of your valuable service, and in the hope of seeing all your potential realized, I, Commander Singer, do offer you the rank of Captain in His Majesty’s Royal Guard,” Bobby pronounces. 

Dean has practiced this next part. He takes a deep breath. “I, Dean Winchester, accept this position and the responsibilities that accompany it,” he says, glad to note that his voice remains steady. “I vow to serve the kingdom, and its people, with my heart, my body, and my soul.”

The king approaches again, and draws his sword. Bobby does the same. They each tap Dean lightly on one shoulder with the flat of their blades, and then each fixes a small gold pin in the shape of the sun to his cloak.

“I present to you Captain Dean Winchester of the Royal Guard!” King Charles exclaims.

Dean breaks into a relieved grin and turns to face the crowd once more. He hears a familiar whistle, and follows the sound to where his brother is standing, his arm looped over the shoulder of his betrothed, Jessica. Dean waves in their direction, and they wave back frantically. He chuckles at their enthusiasm, but it’s touching to see.

“Alright, time to pack it in,” Bobby says from behind him. “Some of us have work to do.”

“I’m a valuable member of the Royal Guard,” Dean mutters, still smiling and waving at the crowd. “You promoted me, remember?”

“Don’t make me regret it.” Bobby turns to the king, who nods briefly at Dean before they ride off, Benny and Jo falling into place on either side of them.

Once they’re gone, the crowd gives up any pretense of politeness and swarms onto the amphitheatre floor, clustering around Dean to offer congratulations. Sam and Jess are among the first to reach him, and Dean swings down from his horse to sweep them both into an embrace. 

“Looking good out there, Captain,” Jess says with a wink. Dean laughs at the affronted expression on his brother’s face and deliberately plants a wet kiss on Jess’ cheek, which only makes Sam scowl harder. 

“You don’t need to marry Sam to be a Winchester, Jess,” Dean reminds her jokingly. 

“Stop flirting with my betrothed, Dean,” Sam complains.

“You can’t order me to do anything, I’m a Captain now,” Dean replies smugly.

“And I’m not a member of the Guard, so unless I’m caught committing a crime, you have no authority over me,” Sam says, matching Dean’s tone. Damn lawyers. Always ready with a rebuttal.

“Dean!” a new voice exclaims. Dean turns to see a short, redheaded woman approaching them, a huge grin on her face. Dean answers it with one of his own. “Charlie! You made it!” he says, delighted to see her. Charlie had grown up down the street from the Winchesters, but had recently moved further south to live with her wife Gilda. 

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Charlie says, clinging to him as he lifts her off the ground and spins her around. “Good to see you, Captain.”

“You too,” Dean says. “Is Gilda here too?”

Charlie shakes her head. “Early arrival,” she says with a meaningful wink. Dean blinks at her in confusion, then realizes what she’s saying. Gilda is the midwife for the small village where she and Charlie live, and clearly, one of the village women needed her at home. 

There are other people gathering around them now, and Dean loses sight of Charlie, Sam, and Jess among the crowd. He keeps one hand on Baby’s reins so he doesn’t get separated from her, and he’s thankful that she’s too good-natured to be spooked by the number of people around her. He smiles and nods and accepts congratulations and even kisses a few babies. After about half an hour of this, Dean is ready to escape. But the crowd doesn’t seem like it’s thinning at all.

So Dean does the only thing he can think of. He swings back up into the saddle, and places his hand over his heart, a solemn expression on his face.

“My friends,” he says, making sure that his voice carries, “I’m afraid I must depart. They didn’t promote me for my good looks alone, you know. Duty calls!”

A ripple of disappointment runs through the crowd, but they part readily enough, allowing Impala to trot out of the amphitheatre. Dean pauses at the exit and gives a final wave, then prods gently at Impala’s sides and sends her galloping away to the security of the stables.

He finds Sam and Jess waiting for him there. “Took you long enough,” Sam comments, reaching for Impala’s reins. She allows Sam to handle her, though she doesn’t look pleased about it. 

“Got swarmed by adoring fans, you know how it is,” Dean says glibly. “Or you would, except that nobody cares about lawyers.”

“I didn’t go into law for the fans.” Sam rolls his eyes, offering an apple to Impala, who seems much more receptive to his presence now that he’s giving her treats.

“We all have our own ways of helping people,” Jess says with a smile. Deans tips his head in acknowledgement of her point. Jess is almost finished her training as a healer, and Dean knows she’ll be wonderful at it. She and Sam both care deeply about the kingdom and its people as well. It takes all kinds of work to keep them safe and happy, and Dean couldn’t be prouder of his little family. 

He just wishes things could stay the same between them. He loves Jessica, truly, and is so happy that he would soon be able to call her his sister. 

If only that didn’t mean he would be losing his brother.

He and Sam have been fighting about it a lot, recently. What they’ll do after Sam and Jess get married in a month’s time. Dean wants her to move into the house he and Sam currently share. It was built as a family home, there’s plenty of space. But Sam insists that they need a new home of their own. It’s symbolic, he says.

Dean doesn’t know how to interpret that, other than as meaning that Sam wants to leave him behind. 

Sam always insists that isn’t the case, that they’ll still spend plenty of time with Dean, but Dean knows it just won’t be the same. Rationally, he’s aware that he’s being selfish, but he can’t imagine living in that big house all by himself. Sam tries to tell him it will be good for him, force him to interact with new people, maybe find someone to settle down with himself. But no matter how Sam says it, it still feels like a rejection.

Dean shakes off his maudlin thoughts and focuses on the conversation at hand. Jess is talking about making something special for dinner, and Sam is encouraging her. He looks up at Dean as though gauging his reaction, and Dean forces himself to nod enthusiastically, though he has no idea what they’ve been discussing. 

He hopes he hasn’t just agreed to something huge, like Sam moving out even earlier than originally planned.

“And yes, Dean, there will be pie for dessert,” Jess continues, smiling at him fondly. Dean snaps to attention at the mention of pie. How can he possibly be upset that Sam is marrying this wonderful woman who bakes him pies on the important days in his life? He feels like the lowest type of scum. 

Dean pulls himself together and forces a smile onto his face. “Sounds wonderful,” he says, maybe a bit too heartily. Sam gives him a strange look. “It’s pie, Sammy,” Dean explains, as though it should be obvious. Sam just rolls his eyes.

“Come on, let’s go home,” he says, and with a final kiss to Baby’s head, Dean follows his brother and Jess out of the stables.

They’re laughing at some private joke, hands clasped together as they walk, and Dean’s mood turns thoughtful as he watches them. He’s not jealous, exactly, but maybe a bit envious. He feels strangely old, watching them, even though there’s only four years between them. Maybe it’s because he’s been responsible for Sam for so long. Maybe it’s because it’s been so long since he’s been close to anyone that he feels distant from that kind of emotional connection.

Whatever the reason, Dean vows to be a better brother, to both Sam and Jessica. The promises he made during the ceremony today apply in this case as well. He will protect them, heart, body, and soul. He will support their decisions, even if that means he’ll be left alone. Maybe he’ll be so busy with his new responsibilities, he may not even notice Sam’s absence. Or at least not notice it as much as he might have otherwise. 

“Come on, old man!” Sam turns arounds and grins cheekily at him. “I would have thought the promise of pie would motivate you to walk faster.”

“These new Captain’s pins are really bringing me down,” Dean complains, pretending to be dragged down under their weight. 

“We could take them away from you again,” Jess suggests.

Dean raises his hands and covers the pins protectively. “Hey, I earned these.”

“Yes you did,” Jess agrees. “Now come on.”

Dean lets himself be grabbed by both of them, one on each side, and escorted proudly along the last few streets until they reach home. It’s hard to stay brooding with these two. Their affection rolls off them in easy waves, and Dean basks in it. Combined with the support from the crowd earlier, it’s a nice buffer against the loneliness that threatens to overwhelm him at times. A contented feeling settles into his chest. 

And it’s a nice feeling. He hopes he can keep it.


	2. Chapter 2

Another dreary morning. Castiel considers pushing the clouds away just to brighten his own mood, but it’s no more than a passing fancy. He can hear Anna’s voice in his head, repeating one of the first things he learned when he came to the Grey Tower.” _We use our power to help the kingdom, not ourselves,_ ” she’d said, more stern than usual. “ _We watch, we observe, and we intervene when necessary. The regular course of nature is not for us to alter._ ”

So Castiel will deal with the gloomy weather. It isn’t a threat to anything other than his own feelings.

At least he’ll have a distraction soon enough. It has been two weeks since his mirror lit up with the image of the Great Falls, and still nothing disastrous has occurred. Just to be cautious, however, he contacted the other Watchers and arranged a conversation between them. It’s due to take place in just a few hours. He will ask them if they have noticed anything unusual in the area, or anywhere else in the kingdom, they will likely assure him that he was being overly fretful, and then they will chat about more pleasant matters. 

Just then, one of his mirrors lets out a loud noise, like the tolling of a bell. Castiel turns and frowns at the row of mirrors along the back wall of his workroom. There are four of them just at eye-level, each with a different-coloured frame, that connect him to the four other Watchers. This is how they speak across the distance that separates them all. But it isn’t yet time for their meeting.

It’s the red mirror that is making the noise. Castiel walks over to it, presses his palm to its frame, and speaks the incantation that opens it for communication. Less than a second later, Michael’s face fills the glass.

“Castiel!” he exclaims. “There you are.” Michael’s dark hair is messier than normal, and his handsome face looks slightly flushed. 

“Yes, here I am,” Castiel replies. “But why are you here? We aren’t supposed to meet for a few hours yet.”

“That’s why I’m calling,” Michael says hurriedly. “I won’t be able to participate. I’m in the middle of a big enchantment at the moment. Very important work. The next step has to be done soon. I can’t put it off.”

This meeting was arranged over a week ago. Castiel isn’t sure why Michael chose this particular day to cast this important spell of his, knowing that he had a prior commitment. Castiel sighs. They’ll just have to go forward without the Military Watcher’s participation. Michael wouldn’t miss the conversation unless what he was doing was truly important. 

“Very well,” Castiel says, keeping his voice even. “I’m sure one of us can update you on any pertinent information afterwards.”

Michael treats Castiel to a brilliant smile. “Wonderful,” he says. “Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a spell that requires my attention.”

Before Castiel even has a chance to say goodbye, the mirror goes dark. 

“Rude,” he says to himself. He had hoped for a few more minutes to talk. Maybe to find out what exactly Michael is working on. But it’s considered a bit intrusive to ask too closely about another Watcher’s work. If the information is volunteered, they can slip into endless discussions about spells and arguments about details, but otherwise, their day-to-day workings are their own business.

Castiel glances at the other mirrors, but they’re all still dark. He has some time before he has to be here to talk to the others, and he still feels unsettled, for reasons he can’t determine. 

His gaze wanders over to one of the mirrors on the opposite wall. Specifically, the one that shows him the Great Falls. The one that started this whole situation. The one in which he saw the handsome guardsman a few weeks ago.

_I’m just checking in on the situation that prompted this call to the other Watchers_ , he says to himself as he crosses the room. _It’s good to have an update right before I speak to them_. No matter how true that may be, Castiel knows that isn’t the only reason he wants to look into this particular mirror.

He’s also wondering if he might catch another glimpse of the guard.

He won’t deliberately seek him out. Castiel refuses to abuse his power in such a manner. But he can’t deny that he would be pleased to see him.

Castiel knows it’s only a slight distinction. But he’s weak, and foolish, and that man’s face would be a bright spot on his otherwise dull day.

So he activates the mirror, and is only slightly disappointed when he sees nothing but the river tumbling over the cliff in its usual manner. He inspects it closely, and still finds no cause for alarm. He sighs. The others will tease him about this, he’s certain of it. But he still feels that they ought to know. 

Just as Castiel is about to turn the mirror dark again, there’s a flash of movement off in the corner. His heart rate increases, and as he watches, a small group rides into view. As they approach, Castiel can see his handsome guardsman in the lead, followed by two other men and one woman, all on the finest horses, all wearing the uniform of the Royal Guard.

There’s something different about the man. Castiel considers him as he dismounts, and then realizes what it is. There are gold pins on his shoulders that weren’t there before. He must have been promoted, Castiel realizes. He feels strangely proud of this man he’s never met. He looks young to be an officer. The other three guards come to a halt beside him, and then they begin a series of exercises with their weapons that Castiel watches with fascination. His tools are maps and mirrors and herbs and spells, not swords and daggers and bows. He’s mesmerized by the way the officer moves, his body elegant and strong. The others look like they have good form as well, but they can’t hold his attention in the same way.

There’s just something about this man. There’s no real reason for Castiel to be so fascinated by him, and yet he is. He doesn’t even know his name, only that he’s an officer of the Royal Guard, he fights well, he seems to have a good relationship with his squadron, and that he’s the most beautiful man that Castiel has ever seen.

Oh, and that he has a partner, the tall man Castiel had seen the first time he glimpsed the officer. 

Remembering the clear affection he had seen between the two, Castiel exhales deeply and turns away from the mirror, causing the image within it to disappear. He’s wasting his time watching this man. They will never meet, and even if they did, there’s no hope of anything developing between them. The guardsman is unavailable, and Castiel-- well, he lives alone in a tower, surrounded by books and magical artifacts. He isn’t precisely what one would call available, either. His duty is to the kingdom. 

Just as Castiel is reminding himself of that, three of the mirrors on the other side of the room start making noise at the same time. They all sound like bells, but all with slightly different tones. Castiel hurries back over to them and presses his palm to each frame in turn. The blue, green, and gold-bordered mirrors all brighten, but the red one remains dark. As expected, Michael is not joining them.

“Greetings, fellow Watchers!” Gabriel pronounces dramatically, striking a noble pose. “Greetings from the Green Tower.”

“Hello, Gabriel,” Castiel says. The Wildlife Watcher never fails to amuse him. “Hannah, Balthazar. How are you all?”

Hannah pushes her dark hair away from her face. “I am well, thank you, Castiel,” she says formally. Though at first he found her a touch humourless, Castiel has come to appreciate Hannah’s calm steadiness, which also serves her patients well. As the Healing Watcher, it’s important that she be able to control herself in stressful situations.

“Yes, hello to all,” Balthazar says, looking somewhat disinterested in the proceedings. “Or rather, not quite all. Where is Michael?”

“He contacted me earlier this morning. He’s working on an important enchantment that cannot be interrupted,” Castiel explains. “He sends his regrets, and hopes we’ll inform him of any pertinent information after our discussion.”

“The Red Tower is too important for the likes of us, hmn,” Balthazar snorts. There’s always been a slight tension between the Agriculture Watcher and the Military Watcher, a remnant of the war that led to their posts being created in the first place. On top of that, Balthazar’s breezy, indulgent personality often clashes with Michael’s sternness and devotion to order. 

Castiel frowns at his fellow Watchers. “We’ve held meetings without a member before,” he points out calmly. “Before I begin, does anyone have anything that needs to be addressed immediately?”

“The length of your hair,” Gabriel says quickly. “Are you modelling yourself after me? I’m flattered, Castiel, but I don’t think it’s your best look.”

Castiel raises a hand to his unkempt hair and scowls at Gabriel. “I’ve been meaning to cut it,” he protests.

“I fail to see how Castiel’s hair is relevant to the security of the kingdom,” Hannah says. “Castiel, tell us why you requested this meeting.”

Castiel offers silent thanks for Hannah’s brusqueness. It tends to keep Balthazar and Gabriel at least somewhat in line. He takes a deep breath and begins his explanation. “Two weeks ago, one of my mirrors lit up, but when I investigated, I found no reason for the warning spell to have been triggered.”

“Which mirror?” Balthazar asks, his expression becoming more interested. 

Castiel points behind himself. “It shows me the Great Falls.”

There are certain mirrors that all the towers have in common-- those for communication with one another, for example, or many of those located in the capital city or other points of interest. As far as he knows, however, Castiel is the only one with a direct view of the Great Falls, since any change in its pattern is likely to be caused by meteorological conditions. 

“But you couldn’t see anything wrong?” Gabriel looks puzzled. “Maybe your warning spell is malfunctioning.”

“I re-cast it, just to be sure,” Castiel says. “Water levels in the river are normal, and I’ve found no trace of contaminants. Have any of your mirrors been acting strange lately?” 

Hannah shakes her head. “All appears to be well from the Blue Tower.”

“The crop cycle is normal,” Balthazar says. “I haven’t seen anything unusual.”

Castiel turns to Gabriel. “And the animals?” he asks.

Gabriel hesitates before replying. “The wild hare population is lower than usual,” he admits. “I haven’t been able to figure out why.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Castiel demands. 

Gabriel shrugs. “Wildlife is my area,” he says. “I can handle it.”

“Of course you can,” Hannah says soothingly. “But Castiel is correct. We should have been informed. What if there’s a connection between the two events?”

“A malfunctioning mirror and a decrease in the number of pesky rabbits roaming the woods?” Balthazar says drily. “I highly doubt they have anything to do with one another.”

“Castiel, Gabriel, keep a close eye on these matters,” Hannah instructs them. “Balthazar, you and I must be more careful in our scrutiny than usual. If the Grey and Green towers have been affected, I expect we will find some small, seemingly random occurrence in our own mirrors soon enough.”

Balthazar nods, all traces of levity gone from his face. As much as he feigns disinterest and a certain sense of nonchalance most of the time, he takes his duties seriously. In some ways, his task is the most important of all. The kingdom cannot survive without food. 

“I will contact Michael, explaining the situation to him,” Hannah continues. In his absence, it seems that she has appointed herself the presiding member of their group. “If he had noticed anything wrong, I expect he would not have missed this meeting, so it is fair to assume all is well with him.”

“Thus far,” Gabriel adds. 

Castiel nods in agreement. “This is not the time to keep ourselves distant,” he advises. “Anything odd, anything unusual, we inform one another. No matter how small or unthreatening it may seem.”

“Agreed,” Hannah says. Balthazar and Gabriel nod as well. 

Castiel spreads his hands in a helpless gesture. “Other than that, there is little else we can do. We watch. We observe. We intervene when necessary.”

“And hope that we aren’t too late,” Balthazar murmurs.

Gabriel lets out a chuckle. “Lighten up,” he says. “This is what we’re here for. For once we may actually have to put all of our learning and training to real use. It’s exciting, really.”

“A threat to the kingdom’s safety and stability is not what I would call exciting, Gabriel,” Hannah rebukes him. 

Gabriel rolls his eyes at her. “We can handle this,” he says firmly. “It’s what we were placed here to do.”

“Indeed,” Castiel says, interrupting them before they break into a serious argument, which has been known to happen from time to time. “Should we inform the king?”

Balthazar’s expression turns thoughtful. “That’s Michael’s task,” he says slowly. “But if Michael is busy with other matters…”

“He will inform the king once I inform him,” Hannah says. “We report to the Military Watcher, and it is the duty of the Military Watcher to report to the king on matters of security. We must not interfere with that chain of communication.”

As much as Castiel agrees with Hannah, he can’t help feeling slightly bitter about what she says. The Military Watcher enjoys a place of special privilege, as the Red Tower was the first to be built by the architect, all those years ago. The Red Tower is also the closest of the Watchtowers to the capital city. It is Michael’s responsibility to discuss these strange events with King Charles, and yet Michael can’t even be bothered to take the time to meet with his fellow Watchers.

“Wonderful, less work for us!” Gabriel says cheerfully. Castiel wishes he could share his attitude. He’ll gladly take on more work, more responsibility, if it means keeping the kingdom safe.

“Well, this has been nice,” Balthazar drawls. “But I don’t see what else we can do for the moment, so shall I suggest that we return to our own affairs? I for one have some grapes that need tending to.”

Castiel smiles at the Agriculture Watcher. “Grapes, hmn,” he teases. “Your favourite fruit.”

Balthazar winks at him. “They really do make the best juice,” he says lightly. “Someday we’ll drink some together, Castiel. When we’re done with these towers.”

It’s something they only ever discuss in joking tones, what they’ll do once they leave their posts. No one knows exactly how the process of finding an apprentice occurs. The other Watchers have all been in their towers for longer than Castiel. He’s the youngest of them, though Hannah is only a year or two older. None of the Watchers who came before them would tell them how they would know it was their time to step down. When he asked, Anna had just smiled enigmatically at him and said, “ _You’ll know._ ”

“Can I come too?” Gabriel asks, making a pleading face at them.

“Of course,” Balthazar says generously. “And for once, the only thing we’ll watch is the level of wine in the bottle as it decreases.”

Hannah surprises them all by smiling at the suggestion. “I look forward to it,” she says. “But for now, keep in touch. Be vigilant. Be safe. Be watchful.”

“Be watchful,” Castiel echoes. The traditional farewell of their order seems particularly apt today. The others say their goodbyes as well, and one by one, the mirrors go dark, leaving Castiel alone with his thoughts.

He’s glad that he chose to share his concerns with the group. It doesn’t seem as though Gabriel would have informed them about the hares otherwise, and now all the Watchers are on alert for strange happenings. Gabriel was right. This is what they were trained to do. They can determine what the problem is, and they can solve it. They have all the resources at their disposal, between their scrying tools and their spellbooks, and their combined power is not inconsiderable. The kingdom will be safe.

Castiel heads down to the library, and begins to search through his books, looking for something that will help him strengthen the alarm spells on his mirrors. It doesn’t appear that the kingdom is in any immediate danger, which is fortunate. It gives them time to prepare. For all its uses, most magic is time-consuming, as a protection against it being used impulsively. It takes time and effort and preparation to cast most enchantments. Castiel will spend a few hours researching, a few hours preparing, and a few hours actually casting the spells to increase the strength of his mirrors. It will be tiring, but it will be worth it.

He wonders about the handsome guardsman. What he would do in this situation. He would find a way to stop this before it got worse, Castiel is sure of it. The man has _hero_ written all over him. Castiel isn’t like that. He just has the tools he’s been trained to use, not any kind of innate quality that equips him to save the kingdom. But he will do what he can. His efforts, combined with those of the other Watchers, will be enough to steer the kingdom back on course. 

If all goes well, the people will never even have to know that there was any potential danger at all. Part of being a Watcher is protecting them from even the idea of a threat. Their lives will go on as they always have, blissful and unaware. Castiel envies them, but only slightly. As he pores over his ancient spellbooks, searching out new ways to keep the people safe, Castiel feels content. He has a mission, and the tools necessary to accomplish it. He will see it done.

***

Dean lowers his sword, grinning happily at Benny. “Victory is mine,” he says smugly. He runs a hand through his sweaty hair, pushing it back from his forehead. “No wonder I got promoted and you didn’t.”

“Not over-confident at all, is he,” Victor mutters to Jo. The other two members of Dean’s squad are standing to the side, waiting for their turn to spar. Dean turns to face them, and gives them a sarcastic little bow.

“I earned this,” he says loftily. He turns back to Benny, and misses the devious look that passes between Victor and Jo. A second later, something hits him behind the knee, and as his legs buckle, he feels Jo leap onto his back, her weight carrying them both down to the ground. They collapse in an undignified pile of limbs, and Dean just laughs, trying to untangle himself as Benny and Victor hover above them, not offering any assistance.

“Alright there, Captain?” Benny teases. 

Dean finally gets his feet under him again and stands, pulling Jo up with him as he does. “More than alright,” he says, looking fondly at his squad. His best friends. He feels so lucky to have them by his side as he tries to figure out what the hell being a Captain in the Royal Guard really means for him.

So far, it’s just given his friends more opportunities to mock him. Gently, of course, but still. Oh, and the fancy gold pins on his cloak are nice too. 

And there’s one other benefit that came with his promotion. Dean looks up and checks the time by the position of the sun in the sky. “Alright, squad, back to the barracks,” he announces. “I’ve got things to do.”

“By things, do you mean people?” Jo asks with a surprisingly lewd wink. 

“No, actually,” Dean replies. “Sadly.” Sure, he’s gotten more than a few admiring looks, walking down the streets in his uniform. A few bold suggestions as well. But he hasn’t been to bed with anyone in… awhile, actually. He’s got other things on his mind at the moment.

They ride back into the city, Dean taking point, with Jo and Benny in the middle and Victor at the rear. Victor has the best eyes out of the group, so he always takes the position of rear guard, even though there’s little chance of them actually encountering any trouble. But they have to be prepared, just in case. 

The short trip is entirely uneventful, and soon enough they reach the Guard’s stables. Stableboys swarm the squad as soon as they ride in, concentrating on Dean and Impala. Most days, he brushes them aside and tends to her himself, but he’s running late today, so he lets them do their jobs. As he bids goodbye to the other guards, he thinks he hears the stableboys arguing over the privilege of giving Impala her apple. He shakes his head, bemused by the hero worship he seems to inspire in them. He doesn’t think he’s all that wonderful, but that isn’t for him to decide.

It’s only about a five minute walk from the stables to his destination, a small but neat stone house on a quiet lane nearby. He finds the key that Bobby gave him the week before and pushes open the door. The interior is clean and simple. A well-made wooden table and four chairs sit in an open kitchen area, and off to the side are two more comfortable chairs for reading or entertaining guests. There’s a bedroom at the back of the house, with a large and comfortable bed in the center, covered with a cheerful-coloured quilt. Dean wonders who made it. 

A knock on the door interrupts his thoughts, and he makes his way back to the front of the house. He opens the door to reveal Sam and Jess standing there, looking slightly bemused. “Welcome,” he says, ushering them inside. “Have a seat, make yourselves comfortable.”

“So what did you need to talk to us about?” Sam asks, getting straight to the point. 

Dean scratches nervously at the back of his head, and figures he might as well put it as simply as possible. “This is my new house,” he says, trying to sound proud. “Came with the promotion. What do you think?”

Jess, unsurprisingly, is immediately happy for him. “That’s fantastic,” she says, beaming at him. “It’s quite nice, Dean. And so much closer to the barracks.”

“Yeah, I guess they want to keep the officers nearby in case of trouble,” Dean says with a shrug. He’s watching his brother’s face, and Sam seems to be having difficulty finding the right thing to say.

“It’s a nice house,” Sam finally says. “But, Dean, you can’t just move out. That’s your home you’re leaving behind.”

That had been Dean’s initial reaction when Bobby had told him about the new house, as well. He had scoffed, saying that he had a perfectly good house already, and that they could give this one to someone who needed it more.

But the longer he thought about it, the more Dean came to realize that it might be best for him to take the new house. The family home would be too big for him once Sam moved out after he married Jess. 

“Yeah, well, you’re leaving it first,” Dean points out now. Sam makes a face at him, but he can’t deny that Dean has a point. Jess looks at Dean sympathetically. She’ll be leaving her family home behind as well after the wedding, but her parents will still be there. The home will remain in their family’s possession. 

And that’s the main reason that Dean asked Sam and Jess to come here today, not just to show them the house, but to propose an idea to them. “I think you two should take the house, instead of finding somewhere else,” he says.

Sam and Jess trade surprised looks. Dean can see that they’re hesitant, so he explains his reasoning. “Look, if you don’t take it, it’s going to go to strangers, and you’re going to be trying to find somewhere to live yourselves. That just doesn’t make sense. It’s a good house. Plenty of room for little feet to run around,” he says, raising his eyebrows significantly. Jess flushes slightly at his suggestion, but she also looks pleased at the thought.

“You’re sure you don’t want to keep it?” Sam asks hesitantly. He’s tracing patterns on the wooden table, not meeting Dean’s eyes.

“Hey,” Dean says, forcing his brother to look at him. “I’m sure. It’s too big for just me. I’ll be lonely there all by myself when you leave. Better that it stays with you, and I can come visit. This place is the right size for me.”

Sam glances at Jess, and she nods once. “Okay,” Sam says, breaking into a smile. “Thank you, Dean. It will be a relief not to have to find somewhere new. And I would miss that house.”

Dean smiles back at him. It’s not his preferred option-- that would be him staying in his family home as well. But he understands why Sam and Jess need a house of their own, so it works out well that he has this new place for himself, leaving them the larger living quarters. It’s the solution that works best for everyone. 

“Thank you, Dean,” Jess repeats. “I’ve always loved your house.”

“Yeah, well, you’d better take care of it,” Dean threatens, only half-joking. He has a lot of good memories of that house. But he knows moving out is the right decision for him. Staying there alone, with only those memories for company, would slowly drive him insane. 

“Of course we will,” Sam assures him. “You’ll stay until the wedding, though, right?” There’s just a hint of nervousness in Sam’s voice, and Dean’s chest feels tight with the realization that his brother wants him around for as long as possible. 

“Yeah, Sammy, I’ll be there until the wedding,” he promises. He’ll start moving some of his things into this new house over the next two weeks, but won’t officially change residences until Sam and Jess are wed. He does _not_ want to be in the same house as them on their wedding night. Dean shudders at the thought. 

Dean gives them a brief tour of the rest of the house, and then Sam and Jess depart. He waves goodbye to them from the front door, pleased with how smoothly the conversation went. He had been expecting a bit more resistance from Sam, who is always reluctant to accept lavish gifts, but the logic of Dean’s plan obviously won out. 

After they’re gone, he sits down in one of the more comfortable-looking chairs, trying to imagine himself living here. Possibly for the rest of his life. It’s a strange thing to think about. His days had settled into a comfortable routine after joining the Guard all those years ago, and he normally isn’t much given to thinking about the future. But the promotion has changed a lot of things, and since it was so perfectly-timed to coincide with Sam’s upcoming wedding, Dean now has a lot of unknowns to consider.

Most of the other Captains are at least seven to ten years older than Dean. Most of them have families. They all live in this part of the city as well, so that they’re nearby if needed at the barracks. Dean already feels like the odd one out among them due to his age, though they’ve been nothing but supportive and welcoming towards him since his promotion. 

In some ways, Dean feels like he’s living out the same life his father did. John Winchester already had the wife and family by the time he reached the rank of Captain, but he had insisted on keeping his family home rather than being relocated. That stubbornness is part of the reason that Dean is glad Sam will be keeping their house. It obviously meant a lot to their father, and Dean wants to honour that. 

Or maybe he’s clinging too tightly to the memories of his father, trying to live up to them instead of forging his own path in life. That was what Sam had said when Dean first joined the Guard, but Sam never understood the way Dean felt about serving the kingdom. Dean knows that Sam’s work as a lawyer helps the kingdom and its people in its own way, and that it should be respected as well. But Dean had always felt a pull towards the Royal Guard, and not only because of his father.

He’s happy with the choices he’s made in his life, for the most part. They’ve led him to this new rank, to this new house, and to a whole host of possibilities for the rest of his life. He resolves to be content with it. 

His brooding is interrupted by a knock on the door. Dean frowns and rises, peering through the front window to see who his visitor is, but the angle isn’t quite right. Very few people know that this is his new home. Maybe they’re looking for the house’s previous inhabitants.

Dean opens the door and blinks in surprise when he sees Bobby standing on the other side. “Hi, Bobby,” he says, his voice sounding foolish even to his own ears.

“You going to invite me in or what?” Bobby asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

Dean opens the door all the way and steps aside to let Bobby enter the house. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

“It ain’t exactly a social call,” Bobby says, though he settles into the armchair Dean just vacated as though it’s exactly that. 

Dean frowns at him. “So what is it, then?”

Bobby reaches into his tunic and produces a piece of paper and a quill, and holds them out to Dean. Mystified, Dean takes them, and sits down at the table to read the document. After just a few lines, his confusion clears. It’s a simple document of ownership for the house. 

“Wanted you to have a look at the place before you agreed to keep it,” Bobby explains. 

“Yeah, thanks,” Dean says distractedly. His hand hovers over the page, quill at the ready, but still he hesitates. Somehow this moment feels more daunting than the promotion ceremony did. 

Dean has never had many things in his life that were his and his alone. He and Sam shared a bedchamber until their father’s death. Impala technically belongs to the Guard, though her personal loyalty is to Dean. These papers will make this house officially his, owned in full, the sole property of Captain Dean Winchester of the Royal Guard. 

“Everything alright?” Bobby asks, a current of worry in his normally gruff voice.

Dean puts the quill down without signing his name to the papers. “It’s stupid,” he mutters.

Bobby stands and comes to sit at the table beside him. Dean looks up at him and sees nothing but concern on his face. He’s so lucky to have Bobby in his life. He knows the other man will sit there, not saying anything, until Dean tells him what’s wrong, so he does. 

“I told Sam and Jess to keep our house today,” he explains quietly. “So if I accept this one, officially, it means…”

“It means you’re on your own,” Bobby finishes for him. Dean nods. “Dean, I’m going to tell you something, and I want you to listen closely now. Being alone doesn’t mean what you think it does. Having your own space does not mean that the distance between you and your brother is impossible to cross. Living alone does not mean being alone.”

“I know that,” Dean says wearily. 

“No, I don’t think you do.” A wistful look crosses over Bobby’s face. “When I lost Karen, I thought that was it for me. I thought I would never feel a connection to anyone again. But you know what got me through?”

“What?” Dean asks tentatively. Bobby almost never mentions his wife, who passed away nearly ten years ago. 

“The Guard,” Bobby says. “They were always coming around to check on me, bringing me food, distracting me when I needed it but leaving me alone when I needed that instead. There’s something special in what we do, Dean. Now I’m not saying it trumps the need for love and family and all those other things, or that we should place it above them. I’m just saying that a member of the Royal Guard is never, ever alone. We are a team. We look out for the people, and we look out for each other.”

Dean knows that Bobby speaks the truth, and it makes him feel a bit better. He picks up the quill again, and only hesitates for a second before signing his name at the bottom of the document. Then he leans back in his chair, feeling strangely proud of himself.

“See, that wasn’t so bad now, was it?” Bobby reaches out and takes the paper and quill back from Dean. “Trust me, as soon as the word gets out that this is Captain Winchester’s new home, you’ll have a steady stream of guests pouring in to welcome you to the neighbourhood.”

That doesn’t sound so bad. Maybe Dean will even deliberately plan something for his squad, a nice celebration for them all. “Thanks, Bobby,” he says, reaching out to clasp the older man by the shoulder. 

Bobby smiles at him. “You’re welcome,” he says. “Well, this was fun, but duty calls. See you at the drills tomorrow morning, Captain.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean says, throwing him a salute that’s only half sarcastic. Bobby snorts back laughter and offers a final wave before leaving. 

Dean takes another look around the house that now officially belongs to him. It’s a good house. He’ll add his own personal touches along the way, and in time, it will feel like home. But for now, he still has a few days left to spend in the only home he’s known until this point.

He leaves the house and locks the door behind him. A pair of young women strolling down the street slow as they see him approach, casting appreciative glances at him as he passes by. He stops and makes a half-bow at them, which sends them both into fits of giggles. He can hear them whispering excitedly to one another as they walk away, and it makes him smile. 

He even starts whistling as he continues his walk home. He’s surprised at how quickly his mood has changed, but that’s been fairly normal for him lately. He’s going through a lot of changes all at one time, he thinks he’s entitled to a little bit of emotional whiplash about them. Which means that this good mood of his probably won’t last that long, but it also means that it’s likely to return again with time. 

His life has been too settled for too long. No wonder he isn’t well-equipped to deal with change. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that change has to be a bad thing. If he allows himself to embrace the uncertainties, it could be a very good thing indeed.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s been two weeks since his meeting with the other Watchers, and Castiel is still on edge. Being alert and watchful is quite literally his job, but this time, it feel different. There’s a sense of expectation, of waiting for something to go wrong. 

Castiel doesn’t like it.

And the problem is, he doesn’t know what to do about it. He’s increased the strength of the enchantments on his mirrors, and he tests them three times a day to ensure that they’re functioning correctly. He keeps in contact with the others, asking them what precautions they’re taking, sharing advice and spells back and forth. 

It doesn’t feel like enough.

“I’m worried,” he confesses to Hannah during one of their talks. 

“We’re all worried,” she replies, so calmly that Castiel almost doesn’t believe her. But there’s a small furrow in her brow that wasn’t there before, and a hint of tiredness in her eyes that speaks to sleepless nights. 

“What if we fail?” he asks softly, not meeting her eyes.

Hannah knows how to read people. It was part of her training, since she has the most interaction with the people of the kingdom when they come to the Blue Tower to be healed. She correctly guesses what Castiel is trying not to say. “You mean, what if you fail,” she says.

Castiel’s lip twists up, but he nods.

Hannah considers this for a moment. “There’s no reason to think that you will,” she says eventually. “You’ve been well-trained. You’ve done your task admirably so far. I never took you for a doubting individual, Castiel. Why do you not have faith in yourself?”

Castiel isn’t entirely sure how to answer that question. It’s just a strange sense that he has. Maybe it’s because he was the first one to notice that something was wrong, but somehow it feels like there’s more pressure on him than there is on the other Watchers. 

He tells Hannah this, and she frowns at him. “That pressure is self-imposed,” she says bluntly. “If we are victorious, we are victorious together. If we fail, we fail together. It is arrogant of you to assume that you will be most to blame if things go wrong. Our task is shared between us all for a reason.”

“I know that,” Castiel replies, chastened. 

“But still you worry,” Hannah says, a slight smile on her lips. “I’d rather you worry than not take this seriously. But please, Castiel, try to remember that the fate of the kingdom is not in your hands alone.”

“I will,” he promises her. 

They say their goodbyes, and Castiel stares moodily at the workroom walls, glancing back and forth between various mirrors. It’s good that they remain dark and still, but a small, terrible part of him wishes that one would light up in warning, to end this awful waiting. They are poised at the edge of a cliff and he hates knowing that they could tip over at any moment. He thinks at this point, he would welcome the fall. 

He wishes he could distract himself somehow. Leave the tower and go out to gather food or ingredients for his spells. But he has no real need for either at the moment, and to leave now would be incredibly irresponsible for him. No matter what Hannah says, he does still have to contribute to the mission of keeping the kingdom safe, and that means using his power and his skill, which he can really only do from within the tower.

So he does what he does best: he finds a spell.

It takes several hours’ worth of research in the library before he finds what he’s looking for. A perimeter spell, designed mostly for use in the cities and larger villages, to prevent thieves from gaining access to homes. Castiel plans to use it to set up an alarm in case anyone attempts to break into his tower. If nefarious forces are threatening the kingdom, the strategic thing to do would be to go after the Watchers first, so that they couldn’t raise the alarm or stop an attack before it even began. His mirrors will show him anyone who approaches the Grey Tower, but he does have to sleep at times, and just taking any action will make him feel better.

The spell is simple enough in theory, but it has to be adjusted to account for the size of the tower. Castiel also wants to increase the range of the spell, extending the circle of protection so that he will have time to act if a warning does sound. It would serve no purpose to only become aware of enemy forces once they were already at his door. So as he copies down the spell, he mutters to himself about the changes he’ll have to make, adding notations in the margins until he’s satisfied that he’s accounted for all the necessary variables.

Then he takes the paper with the spell and his notes and brings it up to the workroom to begin his preparations. First, he clears a section of the wooden table, removing anything that might accidentally catch fire. He had learned that lesson during his apprenticeship, when he had nearly set one of Anna’s oldest handwritten spells on fire. Now Castiel is very careful about how and where he lights his candles for spellcasting. 

Next, he goes to his cupboards and gathers the necessary ingredients. He mixes them in his copper bowl, binding the mess of herbs and powders together with a few drops of oil. He carefully lights a candle and waits until the wax has softened, then drips some into the bowl as well. These are the basic components of the spell. Then he adds the ingredients that will focus the enchantment on this particular location: a few small stones from the mountains just beyond the tower, blades of grass from right outside his door, a tiny chip of wood from the tower’s front door, and finally, the smallest drop of his own blood, the blood of the inhabitant of the area to be protected. 

Once all the ingredients have been properly mixed, Castiel reads over the incantation silently, making sure he knows the proper rhythm. It isn’t a terribly difficult spell, but it is important, so he wants to ensure that he casts it properly. Once he’s satisfied that he can say the words without hesitation, he takes the copper bowl out of the room, winding his way down the stairs until he’s in the kitchen. Then he opens the door and steps outside. 

The sun is shining brightly, and there’s a pleasant breeze coming down from the mountains. It’s hard to imagine needing a spell for protection on a day like this. Nevertheless, it has to be done. Castiel holds the bowl in one hand while he conjures a small flame with the other. He takes a deep breath, and begins to chant. 

As he repeats the incantation over and over again, he sets the mixture in the bowl alight, and it burns with a steady blue fire. This is good. The book had said that the flame should be blue, so the spell is working. Castiel slowly turns in a full circle, watching as the breeze carries the smoke in all directions, radiating out from his position at the centre. As he completes his rotation, the flame sputters, and then goes out. Castiel stops chanting and peers into the bowl. The mixture is gone, completely burnt up. Again, this is what the book said to expect. 

Castiel puts the bowl down and looks around. There’s no physical evidence that a barrier has been set up around his tower, but part of the point of the spell was that it provides discreet protection. He has no way of verifying that it has in fact worked, though he is fairly confident that it has. His results are just as the book said they should be.

He picks up the now-empty bowl and starts to make his way back inside, but hesitates with his hand on the door. It really is a lovely day, and he’s been shut inside his tower for so long...a few more minutes couldn’t possibly hurt.

He finds a comfortable-looking patch of grass and stretches out, folding his arms behind his head as a pillow. The only sounds he can hear are the rustling of leaves and the distant call of a bird somewhere deeper in the forest. 

For the first time in weeks, Castiel allows himself to relax. 

He doesn’t think about whether or not the perimeter spell worked as intended. He doesn’t think about what the other Watchers might be doing at this very moment. He doesn’t think about the King’s reaction to their reports. He lets his mind go blissfully blank.

Of course, this leads to him falling asleep.

He’s startled into wakefulness by the cry of a bird as it passes overhead. Castiel groans and pulls himself up off the grass, dusting off his robe as he stands. Judging by the position of the sun in the sky, he slept for just over an hour. Casting the spell must have used more of his energy than he anticipated. Magic always takes a toll on the body, but he hadn’t even been thinking of that when he set out to work the spell. 

He stumbles back inside his tower and places the kettle over the fire in the kitchen to make himself a mug of tea. It doesn’t take long, and soon enough he’s climbing back up the stairs to his workroom. He takes a few minutes to tidy up the table, clearing away the ingredients he had used for the spell. It’s impossible to keep everything perfectly organized in this room, but he has to make some effort, or it will become completely unusable. 

Not long afterwards, Castiel is startled by the the ringing noise coming from one of his mirrors. He looks over and sees that Balthazar is attempting to contact him, the gold-framed mirror making insistent noises in his direction. Castiel accepts the communication and leans forward for a better view.

“Castiel!” Balthazar exclaims, sounding relieved. “There you are. I tried contacting you earlier, but you didn’t answer. I was concerned about you, old friend.”

This must have been while Castiel was having his little nap outdoors. He feels guilty for worrying his friend. “I apologize,” he says. “I was asleep.”

Balthazar frowns at him. “In the middle of the day? Is everything alright?”

Castiel nods. “Yes, I’m fine. I had just cast a perimeter spell, and didn’t account for how much it would affect me. I fell asleep outside.”

“Nice little nap in the sunshine,” Balthazar says, nodding understandingly. “Well, I can’t say it’s the best time for such a thing, but I can’t fault you either. Perimeter spell, you say? Why would you need such a thing?”

Castiel hesitates before replying, not wanting to sound too paranoid. “It occurred to me, that should anyone truly be interested in weakening the kingdom, it would make sense to remove us from the playing field first,” he says carefully.

Balthazar begins to reply, then stops, looking thoughtful. “You may have a point there,” he admits. “Drat. I never thought about it like that, but you’re right.”

“We need to protect ourselves so that we can continue to protect the kingdom,” Castiel says.

“Indeed. Yes, a perimeter spell sounds like a good start. Howell’s?”

“No, Luthe’s,” Castiel replies. “You should have a copy in your library. It’s fairly simple, but you’ll have to adjust it for the size of the boundary. And be prepared for the sleepiness afterwards.”

“I appreciate the warning,” Balthazar says wryly. “My thanks to you for testing it out first.”

“We should mention it to the others as well, when we next speak with them.”

“Yes, of course.” Hannah will have to make some changes to hers as well, to allow her patients to pass through undisturbed, but she shouldn’t have any trouble making those adjustments. She’s a very proficient spellcaster.

“Well, I was just checking in,” Balthazar says. “Nothing new to report over here. Gold Tower still golden and all. Hasn’t started crumbling yet.”

“You shouldn’t joke about that,” Castiel rebukes him. “That may very well be where this is heading.”

Balthazar shakes his head at him fondly. “Oh, Cassie,” he says. “So gloomy. Must be all those storm clouds you play with all day long.”

Castiel scowls at him, which only makes Balthazar chuckle. “Thank you for the tip about the perimeter spell,” the other Watcher says. “I’ll put one up tomorrow. First thing, I promise. I am taking this seriously, Castiel.”

Castiel knows this is true. It’s simply not in Balthazar’s nature to be entirely serious about things, even when he knows how important they are. He’ll do what needs to be done, but he’ll do it with a smirk and a sarcastic comment along the way. 

“Good luck,” he says. “Let me know how it turns out.”

“Will do. Be watchful,” Balthazar says.

“Be watchful,” Castiel repeats, their standard farewell taking on an extra level of meaning in these uncertain times. A few seconds later, the mirror goes dark, and Castiel is alone once more. 

It’s about time for him to check that all of his mirrors are functioning properly. He sighs and stretches, loosening the muscles in his back and shoulders. Perhaps sleeping on the ground wasn’t such a good idea. He pushes aside his own discomfort and crosses the room to the largest of the mirrors, the one right beside the door to the workroom. He presses his palm to its frame, and checks that it responds quickly.

Once he’s satisfied that it’s functioning properly, he moves on the to next one. And the next, and the next, until he’s assured that everything is working as it should be. By the time he’s completed his round of the room, he’s exhausted again. 

There isn’t much else he can do tonight, so he slumps wearily into his carved wooden chair, staring moodily at the walls. He wishes there was some way to magically put himself in a better mood, but that’s one spell that hasn’t yet been developed.

Just as he’s considering going to bed despite the early hour, one of the mirrors lights up. It’s the one with the view of the Great Falls, the one that first gave him that mysterious warning. Castiel stands up rapidly and crosses the room to inspect it more closely.

He still sees no evidence of anything unusual. How is he supposed to respond to a threat that he can’t even determine? This constant reminder of his failure to properly respond to the situation isn’t helping him at all. It’s only making him doubt himself more.

He leaves the mirror on for a few minutes longer, but nothing changes. No one comes into view either, for which Castiel is somewhat grateful. As much as he enjoyed the brief glimpses of that handsome guardsman, he doesn’t wish to intrude any further on the man’s life, even if by accident. Though this mirror seems insistent on forcing Castiel to look into it, and if the guard keeps showing up there as well, Castiel will see him again whether he wishes to or not.

***

Sam’s wedding day dawns bright and clear. Dean is awake just before sunrise, as usual, and he sits at the kitchen table with a mug of tea, enjoying the last few minutes of calm before the house descends into celebratory chaos. Sam is still sleeping, and Dean decides to let him rest for a while longer.

Dean sips his tea, looking around the house he’s lived in for his entire life. This is the last morning he’ll spend here, at least as a resident. He’s feeling better about that now. Somewhere along the way, his happiness for Sam and Jess eclipsed whatever selfish, pitying thoughts he was having about being separated from his brother. 

Just as he’s draining the last of his tea, Sam stumbles out of his bedroom, looking panicked. “Did I miss it?” he asks frantically.

Dean debates telling him that yes, he slept through his own wedding, but he can’t bring himself to be so cruel, not on such an important day. Shaking his head at his own benevolence, he says “No, Sam, you did not miss it.”

Sam exhales noisily and drops down into the other chair. “Thank the stars,” he says. 

Dean looks at him for a second, then stands up and gets him a cup of tea, refilling his own mug at the same time. Sam accepts the drink gratefully, and they both sit in silence for a few more minutes.

“I’m getting married today,” Sam says suddenly.

“Well, yeah, unless Jess changes her mind,” Dean jokes.

Sam gives him an unimpressed look. “Very funny,” he says. “I just can’t believe it’s finally happening.”

Dean knows exactly what his brother means. It seems like only yesterday that Sam had come home blushing about some girl he met at the market. In reality, that was five years ago. They grow up so fast, Dean thinks to himself. He considers himself privileged to have witnessed Sam and Jess fall in love. They’re a beautiful couple, full of hope and passion, and Dean is so thrilled that their love will be recognized in front of so many people today.

But before that can happen, Sam needs to get dressed.

“You should probably start getting ready,” Dean advises him. It’s his job to keep Sam on schedule today, as well as to keep him calm and relaxed. 

Sam nods and resolutely finishes his tea. He claps Dean on the shoulder and heads back to his room to change into his wedding finery.

Dean follows him more leisurely. He’ll be wearing his Royal Guard uniform, which he cleaned and repaired for the occasion. He rubs a hand down his face and figures he ought to shave as well. Everyone will be looking at the bride, not at him, but he wants to look presentable nevertheless. It’s not every day that your little brother gets married.

The ceremony is scheduled to take place at noon, the time when the sun is highest in the sky and the morning and the afternoon are brought together, just as the two people being wed are brought together. Dean has always been rather fond of the imagery of Esporian weddings. 

He’s dressed and ready to go, pacing around the kitchen waiting for Sam to emerge. He’s about to knock on his brother’s bedroom door when it swings open to reveal Sam, dressed in tan trousers and a white shirt with a dark blue jacket. He looks like the very picture of a handsome groom-- except for the gold cravat tied clumsily around his neck. 

Dean sighs and moves forward to adjust it. Sam grins sheepishly at him and stands still while Dean re-ties the cravat, tugging it forward to sit properly on his chest. “There,” Dean says, stepping back to admire his handiwork.

“Thanks, Dean,” Sam says. “Not just for the cravat, but for everything. I, uh--”

“I know,” Dean says roughly. He pulls his brother into a tight embrace, knowing that it will ruin his perfect knot on the cravat and not caring in the slightest. 

Sam hugs him back just as tightly, and then lets go. Dean adjusts his cravat again with a laugh. “Now we’re ready,” he says.

Sam nods resolutely. They pull on their highly-polished boots, and with a final check, they’re out the door and on their way to the Hall of Justice. 

The Hall of Justice is arguably the most important building in the capital after the palace. It contains the courts that Sam will soon call his place of work, as well as various administrative offices that keep the kingdom running smoothly on a day-to-day basis. It’s also the place where marriages are celebrated. Since the day is so fine, they’re fortunate enough to be able to hold the ceremony outdoors in the central courtyard. 

When Sam and Dean arrive, there are already a number of people gathered in the courtyard, some standing and talking with their friends, others already seated on the marble benches that line three sides of the square space. In the centre of the open area is an extravagant fountain, and that’s where Sam and Jess will stand and pledge their devotion to one another. But for now, Sam and Dean wait off to the side. They’re early, which is good. Better than being late.

They’ve only been hovering there for a few minutes when the officiant approaches them. Sam breaks into a smile when he recognizes her. It takes Dean a moment longer, but then he realizes it’s Missouri Moseley, the representative who helped them retain possession of their house after John Winchester passed away.

“Are you our officiant?” Sam asks, unable to conceal his delight.

Missouri smiles at him. “I sure am,” she says, reaching up to pat him on the cheek. “When I heard one of the Winchester boys was getting married, I knew I had to be the one to see it done.”

“Good to see you, Missouri,” Dean says. 

She looks him up and down, then smiles at him as well. “Heard about your promotion too,” she says. “You boys sure grew up well. Your parents would be proud.”

Sam and Dean exchange glances at this statement, and as much as it pains Dean to be reminded that his parents aren’t here to celebrate one of the happiest days of Sam’s life, he knows that Missouri is correct. 

A young blonde woman is hurrying towards them, and as she gets closer, Dean realizes that it’s Jess’ sister Ashley. He tenses, hoping that nothing is wrong. But Ashley doesn’t look worried. 

“They’re here,” she announces to Missouri. Sam lets out a little gasp, and Dean turns to him, ready to catch him if he does something drastic, like faint. Fortunately, Sam just goes a bit pale, but keeps his balance.

“Here we go, then,” Missouri says, leading them out into the courtyard. She takes up position directly in front of the fountain, with Sam to her left and Dean standing slightly behind him. Ashley stands across from them, and she winks at Dean as they wait for Jess to arrive.

A few minutes later, Dean hears the crowd gasp, and he sees Jess slowly making her way towards them from the other end of the courtyard. She’s wearing a traditional golden gown, simply cut but perfectly fitted, and the only thing more radiant than the gleaming cloth is her smile. She comes to a halt beside her sister, and Dean looks over at Sam, whose eyes have practically glazed over with the amount of love and tenderness in them. 

Missouri clears her throat, and any whispering from the crowd stops. She raises her hands and begins the ceremony. 

“We are gathered here today to join Sam Winchester and Jessica Moore in joyful union,” she says, her voice strong and clear. “They have chosen to bind their lives together in love and companionship from this day forward, and I call upon all of you to bear witness to the vows that they will now make to each other.”

She motions for Sam to step forward, and he does, stumbling only slightly. The audience laughs gently, and Dean hides a smile behind his hand.

“Jessica,” Sam begins, pushing his hair out of his face so he can see her more clearly, “I’m so glad that we met that fateful day, because I can’t imagine what my life would be like without you in it. I swear to always comfort you in times of sorrow, to share in both your triumphs and your failings, and to love you every day, from this day until my last.”

Dean feels a tear slowly trickling down his cheek, and he tries to be discreet as he wipes it away. He hears a few sniffles from the crowd and feels a bit better knowing he isn’t the only one getting emotional. 

“Sam,” Jessica says, “I wasn’t expecting you to come into my life the way you did, but I’m so happy that you did. I swear to always stand beside you in times of need, to be your strength and your support, to lend you my smile when you need it most, and to love you every day, from this day until my very last.”

As she finishes saying the traditional words, Missouri steps forward with a pair of golden shears and carefully snips a lock of hair from each of their heads. The she weaves them together into two small circlets, which she slips over their wrists. 

“Let these bracelets be a reminder to you of the promises you made to one another today,” she says. “Though in time they will wear thin and fall from your wrists, by then may your promises have become habit, never to be forgotten. By the grace of His Majesty King Charles, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

The audience breaks into cheers as Sam sweeps Jess off her feet and kisses her joyfully, her golden hair streaming down her back as he twirls her around. Dean cheers louder than anyone else, overcome with happiness for his brother and his new sister.

As the clapping and cheering subsides, Sam and Jess hold up their joined hands, and the audience quiets completely.

“Thank you all so much for joining us here today,” Sam says, beaming at them. “It means so much to both of us to have you here to celebrate with us. We’d like to invite you now to join us at Harvelle’s Tavern for a continuation of the festivities.”

The crowd cheers again. Dean laughs, amused by their enthusiasm. Just as Sam and Jess begin to make their out of the courtyard, Dean catches sight of Bobby pushing his way through the crowd. He smiles and heads in his direction, assuming that Bobby is coming to offer his congratulations. But as he gets closer, he notices the expression on Bobby’s face, and Dean feels his footsteps falter.

Something is wrong. 

Bobby reaches him and leads him away from the crowd, pasting on a fake smile. Dean does the same, hoping to keep them calm for now. “What is it?” he asks once they’re out of earshot. “Bobby, what’s wrong?”

“We got a message from a village out east, near the mountains,” Bobby says quietly, keeping a watchful eye on the crowd. “Something attacked the village in the middle of the night. No one was injured, but houses were damaged, animals set loose, all sorts of mischief.”

Dean frowns. “Nobody saw anything?” he asks.

Bobby shakes his head. “It was dark, everyone was sleeping, they didn’t wake up until the windows started getting smashed. Then they were all too panicked to be paying attention. It’s a sleepy little place called Coldstream. I want you to take your squadron and go investigate.”

“Of course,” Dean says. 

“Immediately,” Bobby clarifies. “It’s about half a day’s ride from here. I want you there by nightfall, in case they try for a repeat performance.”

Dean grimaces, but he knows Bobby’s right. He’s just glad he was able to witness the actual wedding ceremony, even if he’ll have to leave before the party. “Jo and Benny are here,” he says, catching sight of them at the other end of the courtyard. “Victor’s probably at the barracks.”

“Get Jo and Benny and meet me there, I’ll let Victor know what’s going on,” Bobby says. “Tell Sam I’m sorry.”

“He’ll understand,” Dean says. 

Bobby claps Dean on the shoulder and firmly but politely pushes his way back through the crowd. Dean runs a hand through his hair and hurries to catch up to Sam and Jess, who have almost made it out of the courtyard.

“Hey,” he says, tugging gently at his brother’s shoulder. “Sam, I’m sorry. I have to go.”

Jess turns to look at him, concerned. “Is everything okay?” she asks, still managing to graciously accept compliments and congratulations from the people around her while talking to Dean.

“There’s been an attack on a village by the mountains,” Dean explains quickly. “Bobby’s sending us to investigate.”

“Go,” Sam says firmly. “Don’t worry about us. Just be safe, okay?”

Dean nods and pulls them both into a quick hug, then with a final goodbye, he goes in search of Jo and Benny. They snap to attention as soon as they see him approach.

“Something’s wrong,” Jo says, correctly interpreting his expression.

Dean nods. “We gotta go,” he says. “I’ll explain on the way.”

Jo and Benny follow him without hesitation, and Dean’s grateful for that. Fortunately, the Hall of Justice is only a few streets away from the Royal Guard’s barracks, so it doesn’t take them long to get there. Dean uses the time to explain the situation in Coldstream, and by the time they arrive, Bobby and Victor are waiting for them with their horses saddled, and their weapons and provisions packed. 

“Just had to cram all the excitement into one day, didn’t you,” Victor says, shaking his head at Dean. Dean laughs at the exasperated expression on the other man’s face. Victor’s a good Guard, smart and sarcastic. 

“I wouldn’t call it excitement,” Bobby says gruffly. “Listen up. We have no idea what it is you’re chasing after. That’s why we’re sending you. You’re the best we’ve got. If you can’t handle this, you send word, quickly, and we’ll have reinforcements there as soon as we can.”

Deans nods. “Yes, sir.”

“Good luck,” Bobby says. They all salute him, and then mount up. The other three look expectantly at Dean, and he remembers that he’s in charge now. “Well, let’s do this,” he says, and with that, they set off down the main road out of the city.

The ride is tense, which isn’t surprising, but it is unusual for them. Dean’s used to his squad laughing and joking and teasing another, not riding grim-faced into the unknown. He knows, objectively, that this is what they’ve been training for all these years, but part of him never really expected to be in this situation. The kingdom has been at peace for years, and the only nighttime disturbances the Guard usually has to deal with are drunken citizens accidentally trying to enter the wrong house. 

They ride in silence for the first two hours, and it isn’t until they stop to let the horses drink and to give themselves a brief respite that Jo speaks up. “We’re heading east,” she says slowly. “Towards the mountains.”

Dean knows what she’s implying. The mountain range is a natural border between Esporia and its neighbouring kingdom, Infernia. The two kingdoms have little contact with one another, but there are nasty rumours about the Infernians, about their cruelty and their greed.

“You think they had something to do with the attack?” Benny asks.

Jo shrugs. “It would make sense,” she says.

“But why now?” Victor wonders aloud. “Why would they attempt a raid now?”

Dean considers this as he sips slowly from his water canteen. He knows little about Infernia, other than that their current king is named Crowley, and that the land itself is a harsher place than Esporia. 

“There’s no use in speculating,” he says. “Not until we know exactly what happened last night. If we get too caught up in our theories, we could overlook something important. We get to Coldstream, and we make sure the people are safe. That’s what matters.”

The other three all nod, and at Dean’s signal, they mount up once more.

According to the map Dean consults now and then, Coldstream is almost directly east of the capital. They’re lucky to be able to use the main road almost all the way there, and then a smaller road will take them the few miles north through the forest to the village proper. It’s starting to get dark as they turn off the main road, and Dean feels his uneasiness growing. They should reach the village before night falls completely, but he isn’t thrilled about riding through a forest in the dark.

“Am I the only one a bit creeped out right now?” Victor asks, and they all break into nervous laughs.

“Come on,” Dean says, putting on a brave face. “We’re almost there.”

“I hate this place already,” Benny mutters.

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” Jo tells him. She’s probably serious. While the other three are best trained with swords, Jo prefers a variety of knives, and she’s incredibly accurate with them. Dean’s happy to have her with them.

They can’t be more than ten minutes away from Coldstream when Impala suddenly halts, tossing her head back and making noises of distress. Dean lifts his hand to signal to the others to stop, and they fall silent, listening for any disturbances. Dean hears a twig snap behind them, and as he whirls around to see what caused it, Benny lets out a grunt, staring at the arrow sticking out of his arm. 

“Ride!” Dean commands, digging his heels into Impala’s sides. There’s movement in the trees on all sides of them, and he can barely see a damn thing, but he knows which way they have to go. He can hear strange noises, but he can’t see their attackers well enough to determine who-- or what-- they are. 

He does hear a yelp from Jo, and turns Impala around just in time to see her being pulled from her saddle by a shadowy figure. He swears under his breath. He knows his mission is to help the people of Coldstream, but he won’t abandon his squad. 

He sees Victor swinging his sword wildly, keeping his mount steady as he turns in a circle to keep their attackers away from Jo. Benny is still in the saddle despite the arrow in his arm, and Dean feels a brief flash of pride at their composure. 

Of course, as soon as his back is turned, he feels something strike it from behind. He pitches forward against Impala’s neck with the impact, and when he presses his hand to his side, it comes away wet. Something looms in front of them, and Impala rears, striking at it with her hooves, and then spooks.

She takes off into the woods, and it’s all Dean can do to stay in the saddle. There’s no chance he’ll be able to control her, not when she’s this panicked. They crash through the trees, the noises from the fight behind them gradually fading away. She’ll halt soon enough, and then Dean can guide her back. He hopes Benny and Jo and Victor are alright. They’re good fighters, but he still doesn’t even know what they were fighting against.

Dean can feel himself growing dizzier, and his eyes are beginning to close against his will. Impala veers off to the right, and the motion is enough to send him tumbling from the saddle. He lets out a grunt of pain as he hits the forest floor, and he tries to call after her, but she’s already gone. 

Dean takes a deep breath and levers himself to his feet. He only makes it a few steps before he stumbles and falls to the ground again. He must have lost a lot of blood. And it’s completely dark in the woods, and he’s all alone.

He’s likely to die here.

He lets out a bitter laugh, wincing at the way it sharpens the pain in his side. He tries to peer through the trees in the direction they came from, and he thinks he can just barely hear the sound of swords striking against each other. Or maybe it’s just the echo of his heart pounding, shaking through his skull.

Suddenly, the forest lights up with a brilliant flash of light. Dean gasps and covers his eyes, shielding himself from the brightness. When he dares open them again, the forest seems even quieter than before. He strains to hear any indication that his friends are safe, but there’s nothing.

Dean groans and slumps back to the ground. His breathing is laboured now. He knows he’s going to pass out from the blood loss at any minute. He just wishes he knew that the others were safe. They’re his only concern at the moment. 

He draws in one last breath, and then fades into unconsciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel has been waiting for something else to go wrong, but somehow, he never expected that it would hit this close to home.

The clanging of his mirrors wakes him in the middle of the night, and as he stumbles down the stairs to the workroom, he curses himself for needing to rest. Of course the danger would come during the night. The mirror that shows him Coldstream, the closest village to the Grey Tower, is alight, and he can see people and animals rushing about in a panic. What he can’t see is what’s causing their distress.

How can he help them if he doesn’t know what they’re facing?

As he wracks his brain for a solution, the noise from the mirror gradually quiets. Whatever the attack was, it seems to be over. Without any interference from him. 

He remains in his workroom for the rest of the night, expecting another mirror to light up, but nothing happens. 

What is the use of all his knowledge, all his power, if he can neither prevent these attacks, nor come to the people’s aid once they’ve started?

He knows he should inform the other Watchers, but he doesn’t want to face them, not when he feels like such a failure. He’s still observing the village through his mirror, and from what he can tell, none of the villagers were injured. He’s grateful for that, at least. 

A line of clouds looms on the horizon, and Castiel pushes them away with a whispered incantation. He couldn’t do anything for the people of Coldstream the night before, but he can give them fair weather today, a comfort against the unknown terrors now present in their lives.

The mirrors that link him to his fellow Watchers are ringing. Castiel sighs and accepts the request for communication. So much for hiding his shame. They will have heard about the attack by now, and as the closest Watcher, he has a responsibility to update them on the situation.

Michael is the first to speak. “Castiel, are you alright?” he asks, and there’s a definite note of concern in his voice. 

“I’m alright,” he says. _I’m useless_ , he thinks, but he won’t say that. No sense bemoaning his inaction now.

“What happened?” Gabriel asks.

Castiel shrugs. “I wish I knew. The mirror woke me in the middle of the night, but all I could see was the people. I don’t know what attacked the village. It all happened so fast.”

“But surely you saw them leave,” Hannah says. “You can see the roads in and out of the village as well.”

“Yes, but there was nothing,” Castiel explains. “No movement on the road that I could see.”

“Invisible attacks?” Balthazar says skeptically. “I believe you, Castiel, I do. But that’s rather far-fetched.”

“Michael?” Hannah asks. “It sounds like battle magic of some kind. Have you encountered any references to such things?”

Michael looks thoughtful, and takes his time before replying. “Only in vague mentions,” he says slowly. “Warriors who can turn themselves temporarily invisible were thought to have been used back in the days of conflict, but nobody could prove that. The scroll that I have refers to them simply as demons.”

“You mean the same way we colloquially call the people of Infernia demons?” Gabriel asks, raising his eyebrows. “Could Infernia be behind this?”

Castiel flinches at the thought, but it makes a certain amount of sense. Coldstream is the closest village to the mountains that divide them from their neighbours. And the Watchers cannot see over the mountains. If King Crowley moved troops across the mountains, Castiel wouldn’t have seen them until it was too late.

This reassures him somewhat. Maybe there was nothing he could have done to prevent the attack after all.

“I’ve informed the king of the situation, of course,” Michael says. “Perhaps he will send an ambassador to Infernia to attempt to judge the current climate there.”

“That’s probably the best course of action,” Hannah agrees. “We must gather more information before we can attempt anything further.”

“So, as always, we watch and we wait,” Balthazar concludes.

“Indeed,” Castiel says. “I will go to the village today, offer what assistance I can.”

Surprisingly, it’s Gabriel who advises against this plan. “Sorry, Castiel, I don’t think this is the time to be leaving your post,” he says.

Michael nods in agreement. “I understand your protectiveness over the people, seeing as they are your nearest neighbours. But Gabriel is right. We don’t know what to expect next, and as you are closest to what appears to be the source of the conflict....”

“You need me here,” Castiel finishes for him. He sighs deeply, but he knows that they’re correct. He just wishes there was more that he could do.

“Be watchful, Castiel,” Hannah says solemnly. 

“Be watchful,” he replies dully, and the mirrors all go dark.

As soon as he’s certain that the others can no longer see him, Castiel picks up the heavy glass paperweight from his desk and throws it viciously across the room. It hits one of the mirrors and shatters, cracking the surface of the mirror as well. Castiel groans and drops his head into his hands. 

He has never felt so tethered by his position. It’s a strange feeling, to have so much power, and yet to be powerless.

The impatient, reckless part of him wants to ignore the advice of his fellow Watchers and go to Coldstream regardless. The more powerful spells require him to be in his tower for access to instructions and materials, but he has also has numerous smaller enchantments that can be performed in different circumstances. He could heal small cuts and scrapes, brew potions to soothe shattered nerves, cast spells to tempt the horses and other animals back to their owners. 

But he won’t. He’ll just sit here in this damned tower, watching and waiting. 

His temper cools the longer he sits, mostly because the tedium of waiting for something to happen has the side-effect of numbing him almost entirely. Nothing happens. He suspected that it would be quiet during the day. It’s likely that the attackers used the cover of darkness for a reason, and wouldn’t be so bold as to make another move in the broad daylight. Castiel keeps the sun burning aggressively bright all day, but ensures that the breeze is brisk enough to keep people comfortable. It’s only the smallest gesture, but at least it’s something.

As night falls, he grows even more tense. If something is going to happen, it will be soon.

And inevitably, it finally does.

The mirror that shows him the road leading to Coldstream lights up suddenly, making a shrill and insistent noise that Castiel quiets with a wave of his hand. He presses his face right to the glass, biting his lip in nervousness. 

But he doesn’t see anything that remotely resembles an enemy. He sees four people on horseback, and though the light is dim, he’s fairly certain that they are wearing the uniforms of the Royal Guard.

He frowns, puzzled. He’s impressed that the Guard are already almost at the village. They must have left the capital immediately upon receiving word of the attack on Coldstream. But they’re here to help, not to do further harm. Why would the mirror show them to him?

Castiel’s question is answered when one of the men sways in his saddle, clutching at his arm. When he turns slightly, Castiel can see the arrow sticking out of it. But he can still see no sign of who fired it.

The scene explodes into chaos as the members of the Guard go on the defense. Their attackers are quick and strong, and must be wearing some sort of cloaks that provide them with camouflage among the trees, because Castiel can only catch glimpses of them as they move around the guards. The guards are outnumbered, from what he can tell, and their situation isn’t helped when one of the horses spooks and takes off through the trees. Now only three of the guards remain, and Castiel guesses that they have all received injuries at this point.

He has to help them. But how?

Tearing himself away from the scene in his mirror, he opens the book he keeps on the table, flicking rapidly through its pages. He finds the spell he needs, and one glance back into the mirror confirms that this is his best hope. If he can hardly see what’s happening, the guards must be struggling as well.

Castiel stares into the mirror, focusing on the scene in front of him, keeping an image of the area in his mind. Then he dashes up the stairs and pulls on the levers that control the roof. It slowly begins to retract, revealing the dark night sky. Once the roof is fully open to the elements, Castiel stands in the centre of the room and raises his hands.

Then he begins to chant.

It’s a risky move. He could hit one of the guards by mistake. But Castiel is good at what he does. He’s been trained for this. 

There’s a loud crackling noise, and sparks fly between his fingertips. He continues to speak the incantation aloud, raising his voice every time, until he’s shouting at the top of his lungs. In a burst of energy, the sparks jump from his hands into the sky, and a bolt of lightning streaks back towards the ground, aimed directly at the place where the fighting is taking place.

He slumps forward for a second, panting. It requires a lot of energy to cast such a spell. But he can’t waste any more time. He drags himself back down to the workroom, and nervously looks back into the mirror.

He’s pleased with what he sees. The three guards are off their horses, tending to each other’s wounds. There’s a tree just beside them that’s still smoking. The lightning must have hit it directly. 

The near-invisible attackers are gone. Just as Castiel had hoped, they depended on the cover of darkness. The lightning has frightened them away.

Castiel breathes a sigh of relief. He watches the guards closely, but they appear to have only minor injuries and are well on their way to treating them on their own.

Just as Castiel is beginning to relax, his perimeter spell goes off.

He curses and begins reciting the incantation that will show him who, or what, has crossed its borders. He hopes desperately that it isn’t the attackers, stumbling towards his tower in their efforts to flee from the lightning he sent. The perimeter spell is connected to the largest mirror, and it soon lights up, showing him a patch of forest just within the borders of the spell. 

There’s a man lying prone on the forest floor. Castiel can’t see his face, but he’s fairly certain that it’s the fourth member of the Guard, the one whose horse spooked. He must have been thrown at some point, and staggered across the invisible boundary around Castiel’s tower shortly before collapsing.

The man isn’t moving, but Castiel knows he must still be alive. The perimeter spell wouldn’t alert him to the presence of a corpse. Disturbing as it may be, a dead body would pose no threat. So the guard is alive, but he’s alone, cut off from his companions.

Castiel has to help him.

He tosses a few basic medical supplies into his satchel. He doesn’t know what kind of injuries the man has sustained, but it’s best to be prepared for anything. Then he throws on a cloak, grabs a lantern, and sets out.

It takes him about twenty minutes to reach the man, pushing through the trees until he catches a glimpse of his white tunic gleaming in the low light. He increases his pace, and skids to a halt beside the prone figure. He gently rolls the man over, holding the lantern close to ascertain the nature of his injuries.

Castiel gasps and nearly drops the lantern. He knows this man. It’s the handsome Captain of the Guard he’s seen in the mirror above the Great Falls. Castiel stares at him for a second, stunned, but then remembers why he’s here. He checks the man’s body and finds a wound on his side, still bleeding sluggishly. He packs it with herbs and wraps it tightly with bandages. The man moans once, but makes no other sound, and gives no other indication that he’s aware of Castiel’s presence.

Once the wound is covered, Castiel sits back on his heels, debating how best to proceed. He knows he should reunite the man with his companions, but he cannot locate them without his mirrors. The wound is stanched for now, but it will require further attention. He has to get the man back to his tower.

Considering the man’s current state, this would seem a near-impossible feat. Castiel looks around, and supposes he could fashion some sort of litter from the fallen branches to drag the man back on, but it might cause the wound to reopen.

There’s a noise from behind him, and Castiel tenses, but it isn’t an enemy. It’s a horse. 

He laughs in sheer relief. The horse has approached the man on the ground and appears to be investigating him, nudging at him with her head. Castiel gently reaches out to stroke her flank, and she permits it. With a bit of effort, he lifts the man onto the horse. Fortunately, she’s steady and patient about it, and allows Castiel to mount up behind him as well. She responds well to his commands, and soon enough they’re riding back towards the Grey Tower.

He dismounts first, then gently pulls the man down. He gratefully pats the horse on the nose, and she whinnies softly. He leaves her outside the tower, hoping that her clear devotion to her rider will keep her there. He doesn’t exactly have a place to stable her for the night.

He half-drags, half-carries the guard inside and up the stairs to the apprentice’s quarters. At least there’s a bed there. He lowers the man onto it carefully, and inspects him closely once again. His breathing is even, and his wound is no longer bleeding, but he still hasn’t woken up.

Castiel pulls the blankets over him, knowing how important it is that he stays warm. He also lights a fire in the fireplace, and enchants it to burn steadily. He looks at the man again, and he seems to be resting comfortably, so Castiel dares to leave the room for a few minutes.

He goes back to the workroom and checks on the mirrors. They’ve all gone dark, indicating that the threat has passed. He spares a brief thought for the other members of the Guard, hoping that they’ve made their way to Coldstream. The villagers will look after them.

He makes his usual round of the room, verifying that all the mirrors are functioning properly. His head is beginning to feel heavy, but he persists. This is important work. Once he’s assured that everything is as protected as it can be, he goes back down the apprentice’s quarters, only stumbling once on the stairs.

He drags a heavy wooden chair over to the side of the bed and folds into it gracelessly. His entire body hurts. He’s used a great deal of magic tonight, and it has taken a definite toll on him. He feels weak, but he also feels a deep sense of satisfaction.

He made a difference tonight. 

He saw a situation unfold, and he intervened. That bolt of lightning put an end to the fighting, he’s certain of it. He has never truly had to use his power in such a dramatic fashion. Even if it temporarily costs him his strength and his energy, he doesn’t regret it. 

And now he has this unexpected guest in his tower as well. In some strange twist of fate, the man he’s been idly daydreaming about is here with him. When his head clears, he’ll probably panic about that, about the ethics of the situation. Right now, though, he only cares that the man is healing. That he’ll live. That Castiel hasn't failed him.

Perhaps it’s arrogant of him to be so pleased with what he’s accomplished tonight. But when he’s spent most of his adult life preparing for a time much like this, it’s cathartic to finally put all that training to good use. 

Eventually, the man will wake up, and Castiel will explain the situation. They’ll formulate a plan of action. 

But there’s nothing else to be done tonight, not while the man still sleeps. 

So Castiel does what he does best: he watches, and he waits.

***

Dean dreams of impossible things. Lightning appearing from a clear sky. Hands, gentle yet strong, lifting him onto his horse. A body behind his on an urgent ride through the night. A tower of grey stone that seems to emerge from the mountains behind it as though it sprung fully formed from the earth. A soft bed, and a roaring fire, and the presence of another person, hovering just beyond his reach.

And then he wakes, and realizes none of it was a dream at all.

He’s in a large, comfortable bed, covered with soft blankets. There’s a fire roaring on the other side of the room. The walls and floor of the room are grey stone, and the room itself is circular. He slides a hand down to his side and winces when he encounters the bandage over his wound.

But most importantly, there’s a man in the room with him.

He’s sitting in a chair beside the bed, but he’s slumped forward so that his head and chest are resting on the bed itself. It doesn’t look particularly comfortable, more like the position of someone too exhausted to hold themselves upright. Dean lies motionless for a few minutes longer, unsure how to proceed.

From what he can tell, this man saved him. Found him in the woods, bandaged his wound, and brought him back here-- to what is presumably his home.

Dean frowns, looking around the room once more. There isn’t much near Coldstream, from what he knows of the area. It’s close to the mountains, and to-

Oh.

Close to the Grey Tower. Home of the Weather Watcher. 

Dean thinks it’s fair to assume that the man slumped over on the bed must be the inhabitant of this tower. He doesn’t look like a powerful enchanter. All Dean can really see of him is a head of messy dark hair and strong shoulders covered by a dark blue cloak. 

Dean moves to slide out of the bed, hoping to explore the tower, but even that slight change in position sends a sharp pain racing through his body. He lets out an involuntary gasp, and the man twitches in his sleep, mumbles something under his breath, and sits up. 

Dean just stares at him. Though there’s a crease down one of his cheeks from where it was pressed against the bed, and though his face looks pale, and though his hair is a wreck, he’s one of the most attractive men Dean has ever seen. Dean swallows roughly.

“Hello,” the man says cautiously. “I’m glad to see that you’re awake.”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean replies awkwardly. “You too, I guess.”

“My name is Castiel,” the man continues, as though he’s perfectly accustomed to welcoming strange men into his magical tower. “And you are?”

“Dean Winchester,” Dean replies automatically. “Of the Royal Guard.”

“Yes, I had noticed the uniform,” Castiel says. “How are you feeling, Dean?”

Dean isn’t quite sure how to answer that question. Physically, he’s in some pain, but it doesn’t seem life-threatening. Emotionally, well, that’s a bit more complicated.

Castiel must sense his hesitance, because he stands up, giving Dean a glimpse of the long, surprisingly-muscled body under his voluminous cloak, and walks around to the other side of the bed. Before Dean can protest, he’s pulling back the blankets, gently laying his hands on the wound in Dean’s side. 

“You’re healing, but slowly,” Castiel announces. “I have an enchantment that will speed the process.”

“I thought the Blue Tower was for healing,” Dean blurts out.

Castiel arches one dark eyebrow at him. “So you do know where you are,” he comments. “Good. And yes, the Blue Tower specializes in healing, but fortunately, your injuries are not so severe. I am more than capable of looking after you myself.”

“Sorry,” Dean mutters, looking away. He hopes he hasn’t offended his host with his ignorance. He doesn’t want Castiel to put a curse on him. “I guess I don’t know all that much about the Watchers.”

“It’s alright,” Castiel says with a small smile. It looks bitter. “I’m just impressed that you knew who I was so quickly. I don’t imagine that many people bother to think about us except when they need us, or wish to blame us for something.”

Dean thinks Castiel is probably right. The Watchers are only ever talked about in the vaguest terms, likely out of some misguided sense of respect. No one really understands what they do, or how they do it, but they’re grateful to them nevertheless.

“Thank you for saving me,” Dean says, feeling foolish. “I don’t know what that has to do with weather-working, but-- wait, was that you? That bright flash of light I saw right before I passed out?”

“Yes,” Castiel says, taking a seat in the chair once more. “I sent a bolt of lightning down.”

He says it so calmly, like that’s a perfectly normal thing to do. Dean looks at him, his scruffy face and calm demeanour, and can’t imagine him summoning lightning to strike a particular spot in the forest, but apparently that’s exactly what he did. 

“You could have hit someone,” Dean says, because that’s what his brain is stuck on. “Hey! You could have hit one of my friends.”

Castiel looks slightly abashed. “I did consider that,” he admits. “But I didn’t. And I managed to drive off whatever was attacking them.”

Dean has been so caught up in the excitement of meeting a Watcher that he’s almost forgotten the attack that led to his being here. “What were they?” he asks eagerly. “Are my friends okay? Did you see them?”

Castiel holds up a hand to stave off further questions, and Dean falls silent. “I don’t know what it was that you were fighting,” Castiel says. “I could barely see them. I believe they were the same things that attacked Coldstream the night before. And from what I could tell, your friends are alright. Minor injuries only. I didn’t talk to them. I came after you because you looked the most in need of my help.”

Part of Dean bristles at the suggestion of his own helplessness, but he knows that Castiel made the right call. He would have bled out on the forest floor otherwise. 

“I have to find them” he says, struggling to sit up. Castiel watches him for a moment, then gently presses him back down to the bed with a firm hand on his shoulder.

“You’re injured,” he reminds Dean, as if Dean could possibly forget. “I will locate them. Wait here.” 

He sweeps out of the room, leaving Dean cursing behind him. Damn this injury. And how the hell is Castiel supposed to find his friends?

He doesn’t have long to wait, fortunately. Not even ten minutes later, Castiel returns. He looks pleased with himself. 

“Did you find them?” Dean demands. He’s distantly aware that he’s being rude, especially considering that Castiel saved his life, but he’s too worried about his friends to care about that right now.

“They’re safe,” Castiel says. “They’re in Coldstream, meeting with the village council.”

“I saw Benny take an arrow to the arm.” Dean doesn’t remember too much about the fight- it was too dark, too chaotic. But he remembers that moment.

Castiel nods. “They all appear to have minor wounds, but they’re also all on their feet. I suspect you were the worst injured.”

“Can you talk to them?” Dean demands. They probably have no idea where he is. He wonders if they think he’s dead. 

Castiel shakes his head regretfully. “No, these mirrors are one-way viewing devices only.”

Mirrors? Dean doesn’t know what he’s talking about. “What mirrors?” he asks.

Castiel looks surprised. “Oh,” he says. “You don’t even know that much.”

“Well, excuse me,” Dean bristles. It’s bad enough that he’s helpless in this bed, he doesn’t need to feel like an idiot on top of it. 

“I apologize,” Castiel says. “I didn’t mean to insult you. I had no idea how little you knew about what I do here. But that isn’t your fault.”

“What mirrors?” Dean repeats. He’s being allowed a glimpse into a world that very few people in the kingdom will ever experience. He wants to know everything, even if it means admitting how little he already knows. 

Castiel smiles at him. “Would you like to see?”

Dean nods enthusiastically. Castiel comes around to the side of the bed and helps Dean to his feet. He feels a bit dizzy once he’s upright, but Castiel steadies him. Dean allows himself to be led out of the room and up two flights of stairs into another circular room.

But the grey stone walls of this room are entirely covered in mirrors. They vary in size and shape, and some have fancy frames while others are plain. Dean lets out a low whistle at the sight.

“This is my workroom,” Castiel explains, leading Dean to an ornately carved wooden chair in front of the table in the centre of the room. “Where the magic happens, one might say.”

“The mirrors are magic?” 

“Yes. They allow me to see all of the kingdom. Different mirrors for different regions, cities, et cetera.” Castiel points to a medium-sized round mirror. “That one shows me Coldstream. I guessed that your friends would have made their way there, so I activated it first, and was lucky enough to see them almost immediately.”

He says this in such a matter-of-fact tone, but Dean’s sure his mouth is hanging wide open. He remembers his mother telling him about the Watchers when he was very young, saying that they protected the kingdom and its people. She never told him just how literal their name was. Dean’s always known that they existed, but coming face to face with their actual methods of observation is eye-opening, to put it mildly. 

“So you can see everything?” he asks.

Castiel shrugs. “Theoretically, yes,” he says. “Though I couldn’t see whatever attacked Coldstream, and your squad.”

“And you just sit around all day, watching people?” It doesn’t sound very exciting. But then again, Castiel did send a bolt of lightning down to end the battle the night before. 

Is that a faint flush of embarrassment on Castiel’s cheeks? “We watch, and we intervene when necessary,” he says. He sounds like he’s repeating a lesson, like a child in the schoolroom.

“Coming after me, was that a necessary intervention?”

The flush on Castiel’s cheeks deepens. Interesting. “I had a perimeter spell set up to warn me against intruders passing too close to the tower,” he explains. “You must have dragged yourself just inside its borders. It alerted me, and once I saw you, I knew you wouldn’t survive. I couldn’t just leave you there.”

Well, if Dean had to be rescued by anybody, he’s pretty okay with it being by an incredibly powerful enchanter. It makes a good story, if nothing else. “Well, thanks,” he says.

“You’re welcome,” Castiel says, smiling at him. “Honestly, you should be more grateful to your horse. I found you, and bandaged your wounds, but we might not have made it back here if she hadn’t come back for you, and allowed us both to ride here.”

“Impala?” Dean asks, incredulous. He knows she’s a smart horse, but still. “Is she okay?”

Castiel nods. “She was unharmed when I left her last night,” he informs Dean. “I can go check on her shortly, if you’d like. I think it’s too many stairs for you to manage right now.”

Dean makes a face, but he knows Castiel is probably right. He’s still very weak, and from what he can tell, it’s a long way down to the base of the tower.

“Later,” he says. He needs to focus on the human members of his squad right now. “Can you go to Coldstream? Get a message to my friends?” 

Castiel hesitates. “I can’t leave the tower,” he says.

“What do you mean, you can’t leave the tower? You left last night to come find me,” Dean argues.

“Because I believed your life to be in immediate danger,” Castiel snaps. “I weighed that against the potential disaster that could occur if I left the tower untended, and decided that I couldn’t have your death on my conscience. Don’t make me regret my decision.”

Okay, so the weather wizard has a bit of a temper. Not such a mild-mannered scholar after all. Dean switches tactics. He takes a deep breath and puts on his best pleading expression. 

“Please, Castiel,” he says, drawing out the other man’s name. He sees the way Castiel’s eyes flicker to his lips, then dart away, ashamed. Perfect. “I’m worried about them.”

Castiel bites at his own lip, his indecision clear. “I can’t leave,” he repeats, though he sounds far less convinced of it this time. “Dean, you have to understand. This attack may only be the beginning. It is my duty to observe and to protect the kingdom. I can’t do that if I’m not here.”

As much as he wants to get a message to his squad, Dean sees Castiel’s point. He feels a bit bad, trying to persuade him to be lenient in his obligations. It’s obvious that the other man cares deeply about the kingdom, and Dean can respect that. “Is there no other way to get word to them?” he asks.

Castiel pinches the bridge of his nose, lost in thought. Dean waits patiently while he thinks it through. 

“I’ve never had cause to try it before,” he says eventually. “But I know the theory. It should work.”

“What should work?’ Dean asks hesitantly. He hopes it’s nothing too dark or disturbing.

“A voice projection spell,” Castiel says, turning away from him to rummage in a large cupboard. “Essentially, you would be able to speak to them from here. It only works for a minute, at the most, so you’d better plan what you need to say. And it won’t work both ways. You won’t be able to hear them.”

“I just need to tell them I’m not dead,” Dean says. “I think I can do that in under a minute.”

“They’ll be waiting on orders from you as well,” Castiel points out. “You are their captain, after all.”

Right. 

“Think of what you need to say,” Castiel advises him. “This will take me a few minutes to prepare.”

Dean watches with interest as he bustles around, mixing various herbs in a copper bowl, setting them alight and then extinguishing the flames, all while muttering in a language Dean doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know what Castiel is doing, but it’s fascinating to watch.

He decides what to say just as Castiel announces that the spell is ready.

Dean looks dubiously at the muddy mixture at the bottom of the bowl. “That’s it?” he asks incredulously. “It’s not very glamorous, is it?”

“Magic often isn’t,” Castiel informs him. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Dean says. 

Castiel offers him the bowl. “Drink up,” he says, a hint of mischief in his voice.

“Aww, really?” Dean says, disgusted. Castiel gives him a stern look, so he sighs and tips the contents of the bowl down his throat. He nearly gags at the bitter, earthy taste, but manages to swallow it all down.

Castiel nods approvingly. “Now, say the names of the people you wish to reach, and their location.”

Dean clears his throat. “Benny Lafitte, Jo Harvelle, Victor Henriksen. Coldstream.” There’s a faint tingling in the back of his throat. He hopes that means that the spell is working.

Castiel reaches out and presses his fingers to Dean’s throat. It makes him feel oddly vulnerable. He murmurs something Dean can’t distinguish, then removes his hand. “Go ahead,” he says.

“Uh, hey guys,” Dean says awkwardly. “I hope this is working. It’s Dean. Obviously. I’m okay. I’m at the Grey Tower. I got hurt, but I’ll be okay. Just can’t ride quite yet. I want you to go back to the capital. You need to tell the king what we saw. Come back with reinforcements later if that’s what Commander Singer tells you to do. Or just do what he tells you. Don’t worry about me. I’m glad you’re okay.”

Dean looks over at Castiel, unsure how to end the spell. The other man passes him a small cup of water, and indicates that Dean should drink it. As soon as he does, he feels a brief burning sensation in his throat, and then it passes.

“Good,” Castiel says. “You did very well, for your first time using magic. Or allowing magic to use you, as it were.”

“Did it work?” Dean asks roughly. 

Castiel spreads his hands, palms facing upwards. “We have no real way of knowing,” he says. “But based on your reactions, I would say yes.”

“Well that’s just great,” Dean mutters. 

“Magic isn’t a simple thing, Dean,” Castiel says sharply. “It’s tricky and it’s sensitive and sometimes it just doesn’t work. But most of the time, it does.”

“Okay, okay,” Dean says, holding up his hands in surrender. Then he uses them to cover up a wide yawn. “I’m tired,” he says.

Castiel nods. “You’re still very weak,” he says. “And even though technically I was the one doing the magic, you were still involved in the spell, so it affected your energy levels as well.”

“Magic takes your own energy?” Dean asks. He didn’t know that either. There’s so much that he doesn’t know.

“Yes,” Castiel says, guiding him out of the chair and back down the stairs. “When you use a little bit here and there, you eventually build up a certain tolerance. For me, that spell is nothing. But for you, it’s quite the shock. It takes much more than that to affect me these days, but it still does.”

“Is that why you were passed out this morning?” Dean mumbles. Castiel is practically carrying him at this point.

He feels the rumble of Castiel’s chest as the other man laughs. “Yes,” he says. “I may have over-exerted myself last night. But it was worth it.”

“That’s a nice thing to say,” Dean replies sleepily. Castiel gently deposits him back into the bed and pulls the covers over him once more. “You’re a nice guy, Castiel.” 

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says gravely. “I think you’re very nice as well. Now go to sleep. I’m fairly confident that you have little idea what you’re saying right now.”

“Okay, Cas,” Dean says. Sleep sounds like a good idea. “Thanks for rescuing me.”

He hears Castiel chuckle, and he feels his hand lightly smooth his hair back from his forehead. “It was my pleasure,” Castiel replies. 

Dean feels warm and secure. The pain in his side is present, but it’s faint. His squad knows he’s alright, and they know what to do. All his worries assuaged for the time being, Dean drifts back into the comforting embrace of slumber.


	5. Chapter 5

While Dean sleeps, Castiel prepares the spell to help speed his healing. It gives him something to focus on, to keep himself from being too distracted by thoughts of the other man’s impossible presence here. 

He consults his books to ensure that he’s preparing the concoction at the appropriate strength. If he makes it too potent, it will overwhelm Dean, and set his healing back rather than speed it up. Castiel isn’t a master of this art. He isn’t Hannah. She would be able to have Dean fully healed with a single spell. But he can manage this much, at least. 

A small, secret part of him is pleased to know that even with magical interference, Dean will need about two days’ recovery time before he’ll be fit to ride again. Which means Castiel will have two days of his company.

He isn’t accustomed to being around people for that long, and he wonders if maybe he’ll get tired of it. He doubts it. Dean is magnetic. Castiel wants to soak up his presence for as long as possible, before he inevitably leaves the tower and Castiel is alone once more. 

The healing spell is just about ready, so Castiel carries his copper bowl carefully down the stairs to the apprentice’s level. Or, as he’s already thinking of it, to Dean’s room. He knocks softly on the door with his elbow before entering, to alert Dean to his presence in case he’s awake.

There’s no answer, so Castiel enters the room and smiles when he sees Dean still fast asleep, one hand tightly curled in the covers. He has a bit more colour in his face, Castiel notes, but he still has a long way to go. 

Dean looks so peaceful that Castiel hardly wants to wake him, but in the short while that they’ve known each other, it’s become clear that Dean is a man of action. If one were being uncharitable, they might deem him impatient. So Castiel knows that Dean would prefer the healing spell to be cast as soon as possible so that he can get back to his fellow guards. 

Castiel leans over the bed and gently lays a hand on Dean’s shoulder. 

Dean’s reaction is instantaneous. He grabs Castiel’s wrist and twists sharply, his eyes flying open in panic. Castiel yelps and tears himself away from Dean’s grip.

“Shit,” Dean says softly. “Sorry. Reflex.”

Castiel eyes him warily, but Dean’s remorse seems genuine. Perhaps Castiel should have known better than to approach a Captain of the Royal Guard in his sleep. 

“It’s alright,” he says. “No lasting harm done.” He may have a bruise on his wrist, but it won’t interfere with his work. 

Dean sits up, and only then notices the bowl Castiel is carrying. “Is that for me?” he asks.

Castiel nods. “Yes, I figured you would wish to begin the healing process as soon as possible.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean says, offering him a warm smile. Castiel notes the use of the shortened form of his name, and finds he rather likes the way it sounds. 

This next part is a bit tricky. “Umn,” Castiel begins. “If you could just sit up slightly. Yes, like that. And you’ll need to remove your shirt.”

Dean frowns slightly, but he does as he’s instructed. He drops his torn shirt onto the floor, then looks at Castiel expectantly. “Well, get to healing.”

Castiel chuckles nervously, doing his best not to gawk at the impressive musculature of Dean’s chest and shoulders. He focuses instead on the wound in his side. He removes the bandage carefully, concentrating on keeping his hands steady. He winces as he gets a good look at the wound in the bright daylight. 

Dean must notice his expression. “How’s it looking?” he asks, a hint of nervousness in his voice.

“Not particularly pleasant, but that’s what this mess is for,” Castiel replies, reaching for the copper bowl. 

“Oh, gross,” Dean comments as Castiel scoops out a handful of the mixture.

“This might sting a bit,” he warns, then spreads the mixture over the wound as gently as he can. Dean inhales sharply, and his legs twitch, but he makes no further complaints. 

Once all the herbs have been applied, Castiel re-wraps the wound in clean cotton bandages. Then he lays his hands over Dean’s side, applies gentle pressure, and mutters the proper incantation to encourage the spell to take root.

“That’s it?” Dean asks, surprised.

Castiel removes his hands, resolutely ensuring that the motion doesn’t become a caress. “Yes,” he says. “We’ll need to change your bandages each morning. You should be good as new in about two days.”

Dean sighs, letting his head fall back onto the pillows. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” he says, “but that’s an awfully long time for me to be out of action, especially when the kingdom is under threat.”

“I know,” Castiel says. “I wish I could do more, Dean, I truly do. But healing isn’t my specialty.”

“Yeah, no, I know,” Dean says. “I’m glad you could help at all, really. Otherwise I could have been stuck somewhere for weeks. I just hate feeling helpless, you know?”

Since helplessness is a feeling that Castiel has been well-acquainted with recently, he nods. “You should eat something, as well,” he says. “I should too. Let me go make something.”

“Can I come with you?” Dean asks, almost shyly. “I don’t really want to be in that bed anymore.”

Castiel hesitates, his eyes sweeping over Dean, assessing his condition. He did just wake up, so his energy should be at a decent level. And it isn’t that far down to the kitchen from here. 

“Alright,” he agrees reluctantly. “Let me find you something to wear.”

Dean looks down at his bare chest. “Probably a good idea,” he says.

Castiel rummages through the wardrobe in the corner of the room and finds a loose cream-coloured shirt that belonged to him years ago. It’s worn a bit thin in places, but it should be comfortable. He offers it to Dean, who pulls it over his head without hesitation.

“Come on, get me out of here,” Dean says, wiggling his arms at Castiel expectantly. Castiel bites back a grin and slides an arm under Dean’s shoulders, helping him to stand up.

“You’re pretty strong for a guy who spends all his time in a tower,” Dean comments as they make their way down the stairs. 

“Lots of heavy books to carry around,” Castiel jokes. Dean laughs, and he feels proud of himself. He isn’t known for his humour, but at least Dean seems amused by him.

They reach the kitchen, and Castiel helps Dean into one of the chairs. “Thanks,” Dean says, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “It’s nice down here,” he comments, looking around the room. 

“Yes, it is,” Castiel agrees. He’s always liked this kitchen. He thinks he likes it even more now that it has Dean in it, even if temporarily. 

He decides to make a beef stew, figuring that they could both use the protein. Dean watches with interest as he opens the door to the cold cellar where he stores his meat and dairy products. 

“Is that enchanted too?” Dean asks, craning his neck for a better view.

Castiel nods. “Everyday magic is wonderful,” he says as he begins chopping ingredients. “Manipulating the weather is impressive, but the ability to keep food from going bad is more helpful overall, I think.”

“Yeah, I’d say so.” Dean looks thoughtful. “How come nobody else knows that kind of stuff? The practical, everyday stuff?”

Castiel pauses, and looks over at the other man. Dean doesn’t seem angry, just puzzled, but Castiel is sure to think carefully before replying. “I’m not sure,” he says. “I asked the same thing, when I first started my apprenticeship here. Why magic is only studied by a select few. Why we don’t allow everyone access to the more basic spells.”

“And?” Dean prompts him.

“You have to understand, the Watchtowers were built during a time of great chaos,” Castiel explains, going back to his cooking so he doesn’t have to meet Dean’s inquisitive gaze. “The architect, whoever they were, obviously didn’t trust the people of the kingdom, and from what we know, they had good reason. They knew that magic could help people, but it could too easily be turned to dark purpose. So it was only shared with a few.”

“Right, but again, how much bad can someone do with a spell to make food last longer?”

Castiel shrugs. “Apparently the architect felt that an all-or-nothing approach would be easiest. If people learn some magic, they might become addicted to it, find ways to learn the more advanced, dangerous spells. If they never taste its power at all, and are kept happy by the work of the five Watchers, then the chances of an ordinary person becoming a powerful and dangerous enchanter are greatly decreased.”

“That’s a pretty shitty outlook on people,” Dean says. 

“I don’t disagree,” Castiel replies. “But it was a different time. And the system has worked for us so far. Do you feel that your life has been lacking without access to magic, Dean?”

Dean snorts. “Never made a very good student,” he says. “I don’t think I could be bothered to learn it properly.”

“That’s another reason to keep it strictly controlled,” Castiel smiles. “People might become impatient, try spells before they’re truly ready, end up hurting themselves or others.”

“What, like you never did that?” Dean asks skeptically. 

Castiel laughs. “I can say with complete honesty that no, I never did that.”

Dean doesn’t look convinced.

“Anna would have stopped me before I went too far,” Castiel explains.

“Who’s Anna?” Dean asks.

Oh. Castiel forgot how little Dean knows about the Watchers. “She was the Weather Watcher before me,” he says. “What, did you think I was immortal? That I had been here since the tower was first built?”

“Okay, dial back the sarcasm.” Dean rolls his eyes. “No, I did not think you were immortal.”

Castiel takes pity on him and continues his explanation. “Anna found me when I was twelve years old, and asked if I wished to train to become the next Weather Watcher,” he says. “I said yes almost immediately. She brought me back here to the tower, and trained me for ten years.”

Dean looks shocked. “You were just a kid,” he says angrily. “How were you expected to make that kind of decision about the rest of your life at that age?”

“How old were you when you joined the Royal Guard?” Castiel counters.

Dean flushes, and Castiel knows he hit his mark. “Sixteen,” Dean admits. “But that’s a hell of a lot closer to being an adult than twelve.”

Castiel shrugs. “I imagine that if I had showed signs of distress during my apprenticeship, Anna would have let me leave.”

“But you didn’t?”

Castiel shakes his head. “No, I loved it.”

Dean narrows his eyes at him from across the room. “Loved,” he notes. “Past tense. And now?”

Castiel isn’t quite sure how the conversation became so personal, but he doesn’t have much to lose by opening up, and Dean seems genuinely interested in his answers. 

“I still love the magic,” he says, stirring the stew. “But I miss Anna. It was different, as an apprentice. And then when I was first on my own, it was exciting. But now…”

“It must be lonely,” Dean says, understanding evident on his face. “You said Anna trained you for ten years? How long have you been alone here?”

“Ten years,” Castiel says. There’s a nice symmetry there.

Dean lets out a low whistle. “Living here alone for ten years? Yeah, that doesn’t sound particularly appealing, even with the magic. When do you get an apprentice?”

“I’m not sure,” Castiel shrugs. “Anna said I would just know when the time came to move on. And then I have to find the right person, and ensure that they’re properly trained. It isn’t a simple matter of just leaving the tower one day. As we’ve discussed, there’s too much power contained here. It has to be transferred delicately.”

“So you could be looking at another ten years here,” Dean comments. “Yikes. What happens when you leave? Is there some sort of retirement community for former Watchers?”

That’s certainly an interesting image. “I don’t know,” he admits. “Anna never talked about it. She just told me I was ready, said she would miss me, and left.”

“That’s cold,” Dean says. 

“Maybe a little,” Castiel agrees. “But I hope that wherever she is now, she’s happy. She served her time.”

Dean makes a noncommittal noise. “So, that makes twenty years you’ve been here, all together?”

“Yes,” Castiel says, not quite sure why Dean is asking that particular question.

“But your family visits, right?”

Castiel is surprised. “No,” he says. “I haven’t seen them since the day I left my village.”

Dean laughs, and then stops. “You’re serious,” he says, noting the expression on Castiel’s face. “Cas, that’s messed up, man.”

“I suppose it is, in a way, but it’s never really bothered me,” Castiel admits.

Dean shakes his head in bemusement. “I could never leave my family like that,” he says. “Had a hard enough time with moving out to give my brother and his wife their own space.”

Dean hasn’t mentioned a brother before. “You have a brother?” Cas asks, surprised. 

“Yeah,” Dean smiles. “Sam. He’s four years younger, but way taller than me. It’s not fair.”

Taller than Dean...Castiel wonders if perhaps the young man he had seen with Dean that first time was Sam, and not a lover, as he had previously assumed. “And he has a wife?” He’s prying now, he knows, but Dean doesn’t seem to mind. And it’s only fair, after all the questions he asked about Castiel’s life.

“Yeah,” Dean says, a fond look on his face. “Jess. They just got married...shit, was that only yesterday? Barely made it through the ceremony before the news came in about Coldstream and my squad was sent out here.”

Castiel is impressed. “You left your brother’s wedding to come here?”

“Duty called,” Dean says nonchalantly. “Bad timing, yeah, but people needed help. Not a hard decision to make, really.”

It would be easier on Castiel if Dean were less likeable. He can deal with his attractiveness, but those looks coupled with his obviously good heart and sense of dedication speak to more than Castiel’s baser urges. If Castiel isn’t careful, he could end up falling for him.

And since Dean is leaving in a few days, that would be a very bad idea.

“Is Sam your only family?” Castiel asks, still trying to determine whether Dean has any romantic attachments. 

“Technically, yeah, him and Jess are it,” Dean says with a laugh. “Both of my parents passed away years ago. But I’ve collected people along the way. The commander of the Guard, Bobby, is like a father to me. My squad are like my siblings.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Castiel comments, just a little bit wistful. “I wish I were as close with the other Watchers.”

“Kinda hard, with you all being in your separate towers,” Dean says.

“Precisely,” Castiel says, spooning the stew into two bowls and bringing them over to the table. “We communicate through the mirrors now and then, and I like them all quite a bit, but I’ve never met any of them in person.”

“You should organize a yearly conference,” Dean suggests.

As much as he thinks it would be a good idea, Castiel knows that would never happen. “And have all of us away from our posts at the same time?”

Dean laughs. “Right,” he says. “I forgot about that. So you, like, never leave? Except when you’re rescuing people from certain death in the woods?”

“Not quite, but close. I go on supply runs now and then, for food and spell ingredients. But they’re always brief, no more than two hours away from the tower.”

“Yikes,” Dean says, taking a sip of his stew. “Oh, this is fantastic,” he says appreciatively. 

“Thank you,” Castiel says. He’s pleased that Dean likes it. He doesn’t often have occasion to cook for anyone other than himself, but he always enjoys it. It’s just another form of magic, really, with the ingredients and the preparation and the attention to detail. 

“You should be a cook, after you leave here,” Dean tells him. “Food like this? People would love it.”

It’s not an unappealing idea, but Castiel has never dared to think much about what his life will be like after his days as a Watcher end. He has to focus on the present. “That’s assuming we all survive whatever this is that’s attacking us,” he says glumly.

Dean nearly chokes on his mouthful of stew. “Warn a guy before you say something so completely and utterly depressing,” he manages to say.

Castiel shrugs slightly. They’re both involved in the protection of the kingdom. They have to be realistic about these things. “We still have no idea what it is that we’re facing,” he says. “Or how to stop them. If the attacks continue…”

“We’ll find a way to stop them,” Dean says firmly. Castiel thinks this must be the voice he uses when he’s giving orders to his fellow guards. He sounds so confident, so capable, that Castiel would believe anything he says. “I don’t know how, but we will. I’ll be better soon, and then between the Guard and the Watchers, we’ll figure it out.”

“Alright, Dean,” Castiel says. “For now, focus on regaining your strength. Eat up.”

“You too,” Dean advises, taking another bite of the stew. “If you’re going to be sending lightning bolts down on those things, we can’t have you fainting all over the place.”

Castiel grimaces, but he knows Dean is right. They may not know the details, but one thing is clear: they are at war. And the kingdom will need all of its protectors if it is to have any chance of making it through unscathed.

***

As far as convalescence situations go, this one isn’t so bad, Dean thinks to himself.

He’s being well-cared for, at least. Castiel is an excellent cook, and a good healer, even if that isn’t his area of specialization. Dean can feel the spell working. There’s a constant warm feeling in his side, but it’s really quite pleasant. And he doesn’t have to worry about being attacked again while he’s here. The Grey Tower is probably one of safest places in the kingdom right now, despite its proximity to the border with Infernia. 

The company isn’t too shabby either.

Castiel is an odd character, it’s true, but Dean finds him fascinating. He’s so powerful, and he’s led such an unusual life in order to gain that power. It’s a huge sacrifice, and Dean is in awe of what Castiel gives up every day in order to help keep the kingdom safe.

It’s humbling, really. 

After they finish their stew, Dean offers to wash up after them, but Castiel just gives him a sly look and mutters something over their plates, and an instant later they’re clean.

“See, that,” Dean says, pointing at the gleaming dishes, “is the kind of thing more people should know.”

“Washing dishes by hand builds character,” Castiel says.

Dean peers at him, unable to tell if he’s joking or not. After a minute of stone-faced solemnity, Castiel’s lip twitches, and Dean laughs. There’s a surprising sense of humour under all of Castiel’s strangeness, and Dean really likes when he gets a glimpse of it.

He’s feeling much better now that he’s slept and eaten. “Can I see the rest of the tower?” he asks.

Cas frowns at him. “We’re on the lowest level,” he says. “You’ve been everywhere except the bathing chamber, which is between here and your room, and then the library. And then my chamber, of course, is at the very top of the tower.”

Dean notices that Castiel referred to the bedchamber he’s been using as _his_ room, but he doesn’t comment on it. He likes the way it sounds. “Boredom isn’t good for recovery,” he complains instead.

Castiel sighs at his dramatics. “I suppose we can head back to the workroom,” he says. “I should probably check on the mirrors anyways.”

Dean rises to his feet, eager for another chance to watch Castiel perform a spell. “Let’s go,” he says impatiently. 

Castiel rises from his seat and offers his arm to Dean. Dean’s pride is still a bit stung at the fact that he requires assistance, but he knows this isn’t the time to be stubborn. He needs to get better, and fast, so that he can get back to the capital. In order to do so, he’ll have to accept Castiel’s help.

They climb slowly up to the workroom, and by the time they get there, Dean has to admit that it might not have been the best idea. But as he watches Castiel circle the room, his robe flapping behind him, he can’t bring himself to regret it. 

A shrill noise interrupts his thoughts, and he turns his head to see one of the mirrors light up. It’s the one with the green frame. Castiel hurries over and presses his palm against it, whispering something that Dean can’t hear and probably wouldn’t understand even if he could. 

A few seconds later, an image of a man appears in the mirror. He’s a few years older than Dean and Castiel, with chin-length golden brown hair and sharp features. He doesn’t seem to notice Dean, immediately addressing himself to Castiel.

“Castiel, where have you been?” he demands. “We heard that there was another attack last night, on the members of the Royal Guard sent to investigate the first one. We were waiting for you to update us, but I got impatient.”

“My apologies, Gabriel,” Castiel says into the mirror. “I was...distracted.”

“Distracted?” the man-- Gabriel-- says. “That’s unlike you. What could possibly tear your attention away at a time like this?”

“Yeah, you can blame me for that one,” Dean says, standing up and joining Castiel in front of the mirror. “Sorry.”

Gabriel just stares at him for a moment, mouth hanging open. “Castiel, what have you done,” he says, and there’s genuine fear in his voice. 

Puzzled, Dean looks to Castiel for guidance, and is dismayed to see the other man pass a hand over his face, distressed. “You shouldn’t have done that, Dean,” he says quietly, and Dean feels terrible. 

“Who the hell is that,” Gabriel demands. 

“This,” Castiel says, his voice trembling slightly, “is Captain Dean Winchester of the Royal Guard. Dean, this is Gabriel, the Wildlife Watcher.”

“The Green Tower,” Dean whispers, mostly to himself. Gabriel lacks Castiel’s air of gravitas, but there’s still something about the way he holds himself that speaks of restrained power. It’s kind of intimidating. 

Gabriel snorts. “He’s pretty, I’ll give him that,” he says. “But he shouldn’t be in your tower at all, let alone in your workroom.”

“I know that,” Castiel snaps. “But he was injured, and he crossed the border I set around the tower, and I couldn’t just leave him there to die, Gabriel.”

Gabriel softens visibly. “Of course you couldn’t,” he says soothingly. He sounds a lot like Dean does when he’s trying to reassure Sam, Dean notes with some level of discomfort. 

Castiel looks pleadingly into the mirror. “Please, Gabriel, don’t tell the others,” he says. “It’s only for a few more days, until he’s healed enough to ride back to the capital.”

Dean is tired of being talked about like he isn’t standing right there. “Look,” he says, addressing Gabriel. “I don’t really want to be here either. I want to be with my squad, doing whatever we’re assigned to do to help the kingdom. But they’re in Coldstream, or they were earlier today. And I can’t ride yet, so I’m here for now. I get the sense that you guys like the whole mysterious loner thing, but there isn’t much we can do about the situation.”

“It’s not that,” Castiel says, turning to face him rather than the mirror. “We aren’t allowed to bring anyone into our towers, Dean. It’s one of the most important things we learn as apprentices. Books could be stolen, ingredients could be corrupted, we could be influenced to do things against our will-- there’s a whole list of reasons why these towers are ours and ours alone.”

Dean takes a minute to absorb what Castiel said. “But you knew all that,” he says slowly, “and you still brought me here?” 

Castiel nods silently. Dean looks away, ashamed. He’s been giving the poor guy a bit of a hard time about his way of living, but he never truly realized just how strict the rules are for him. 

“Thank you,” he says again, and he means it more than ever this time. “I didn’t know, how big of a deal it was that you brought me back here. So thank you.”

“Okay, you two can go back to making eyes at each other later,” Gabriel cuts in. “Since you’ll be alone in that tower and all. For now, Castiel, I’m still waiting on that report.”

Castiel straightens up slightly at Gabriel’s tone. “Dean and his squad were attacked right before they reached Coldstream,” he explains. “I couldn’t see what they were fighting. I think they had some sort of concealment, but I don’t know if it was magical or just good cloth. Dean’s horse got spooked and carried him away from the battle, so it was just his three friends left. I summoned a bolt of lightning down to the place where they were fighting, and it struck a tree. It seems to have scared the attackers away, and the guards were able to make their way to Coldstream. Then Dean crossed my perimeter spell, and when I saw him in the mirror, I knew he needed help, so I went and found him, and brought him back here.”

Dean can’t imagine what that must have been like for Castiel, watching him and his squad fight those things and not knowing how to intervene. The lightning was a dramatic move, but it had worked.

“So lightning drives them away?” Gabriel confirms, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “That’s good to know. I wonder what else works on them.”

“It didn’t seem like any of our weapons hurt them,” Dean volunteers. “We couldn’t see much, but it didn’t feel like any of our blows even hit them. Maybe they had some sort of armour?”

“Seems strange to wear armour just to smash windows and loose livestock in a sleepy little village,” Gabriel notes. “But that’s good information to have, regardless. Maybe you’ll be useful after all.”

Dean scowls into the mirror. He’s plenty useful, and if he wasn’t injured, and if Gabriel were actually here instead of talking to them through a mirror, Dean would prove it. 

Castiel notices the tension radiating off Dean and lays a calming hand on his back. Dean can feel the warmth of it through his thin shirt. He barely manages to stop himself from leaning further into the touch.

Gabriel’s eyes narrow, obviously noting the gesture as well, but he doesn’t say anything, and Dean’s grateful for it. 

“Dean has sent the rest of his squad back to the capital,” Castiel says, taking his hand away. “They will report to their commander, who will report to the king. I will stay up tonight in case of further attacks.”

Dean starts to protest, but Castiel cuts him off with a glance. 

Gabriel nods. “I know it will be difficult on you, but you’re our first line of defense right now, Castiel,” he says apologetically. “The attacks have been concentrated in your region, at least for the moment. And you’ve already found something that works against these things.”

“For now,” Castiel says softly. Dean doesn’t like the defeated expression on his face.

“It will be enough,” Gabriel says. “Be watchful.”

“Be watchful,” Castiel repeats, and the mirror goes dark once more.

“So,” Dean says, “Gabriel. He seems, uh, nice.”

His comment has the intended effect. Castiel lets out a little laugh, resting on the edge of the table. “He’s a bit abrasive, but he truly does have a good heart,” he says.

“What are the others like?” Dean asks. He knows there are three other Watchers, but now that he’s met two of them, he wonders about the rest.

“Balthazar is ironic, and fond of anything decadent,” Castiel says, his affection evident in his voice. “He’s the Agriculture Watcher. Hannah, the Healing Watcher, is direct and even-tempered, and she truly cares about everyone who passes through the Blue Tower. And Michael is confident, and compassionate, and a very good leader. All qualities to be admired in a Military Watcher.”

“They sound great,” Dean says, and he’s not lying. “I can tell how much you care about them. They sound like your family, Cas, even if you’re not blood.”

Castiel makes a noise that might be agreement. “They certainly tease me like family would,” he says grumpily. “I apologize if Gabriel was slightly inappropriate, Dean.”

Honestly, Gabriel had probably been holding back, based on the look on his face when he watched Castiel interacting with Dean. Dean knows for a fact he would have teased Sam to no end if he had touched anyone the way Castiel had touched Dean, that thoughtless little gesture that spoke of comfort and familiarity.

Dean isn’t an idiot. He’s well aware of the way people look at him. The crowd of people at his promotion ceremony hadn’t all been there just because they were fond of the Guard. Dean knows he's attractive.

And he’s pretty sure Castiel thinks so too.

He isn’t sure, however, if it has more to due with the fact that Dean is the first new person he has interacted with in quite some time, or if it’s something about Dean himself. Either way, Dean doesn’t mind the attention. At all.

Especially considering that he’s just as interested in Castiel.

And it isn’t just because he’s a powerful enchanter, or because of the way his trousers show off a powerful set of thighs that Dean would be happy to be pinned between. No, there’s something else about Castiel that appeals to Dean-- maybe it’s his sense of duty and dedication, or the passion in his voice when he talks about magic, or the longing in his eyes when Dean talks about anything outside the tower. 

Whatever it is that Dean likes about Castiel, it’s dangerous. They are both going to be important players in the kingdom’s defense strategy, and they can’t afford to be distracted now. So as many lingering glances there are passing between them, it has to end there.

Besides, Dean’s still injured. Maybe not the best time to be thinking about all the things he and Castiel could get up to. And he’ll only be here for as long as it takes for his wound to heal, as well. If they were two people who met under more regular circumstances, Dean has no doubt that they would be making magic of an entirely different kind.

“Dean?” Castiel says, bringing Dean back to reality. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah,” Dean says absently. “Just thinking about what Gabriel said, about this being the first point of attack. Do you think they’ll stay here, or move closer to the capital?”

Castiel raises his hands in a helpless gesture. “I don’t know enough about them to guess,” he says, clearly frustrated. “Two night attacks near here give us only the barest clues. If we make too many assumptions based on this little evidence, we run the risk of missing something because we’ve been lulled into a false sense of security.”

Dean chuckles slightly at that. Castiel gives him a confused look, unsure why that’s funny, and Dean hastens to explain. “I said pretty much the same thing to my squad the other night,” he says. 

“Ah,” Castiel says, his expression clearing. “Well, you were right. Until we know more about these attackers, we can’t do much to prevent further harm.”

“So we just watch?” Dean asks, disappointed. He finds the mirror magic incredibly impressive, of course, but personally, he prefers the idea of Cas slinging lightning bolts around.

“And wait,” Castiel adds. 

“Urgh,” Dean says.

“I agree.” Despite his words, Castiel looks quite calm. Dean figures he’s used to doing nothing but watching and waiting, even if he claims to dislike it. Dean, on the other hand, is much more accustomed to immediate action.

“So,” he drawls, “what do we do for fun around here?”

Castiel gives him a blank look. “Fun?” he says, like he’s never heard the word before.

“Yes, Cas, fun,” Dean repeats. “You have to take breaks sometimes, right?”

Castiel lifts one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “I read,” he says. “Mostly spell books, but occasionally just for pleasure.”

Okay, reading can be fun. “I haven’t seen the library yet,” Dean hints. 

“I suppose it is only one flight of stairs away,” Castiel says reluctantly. “And there are plenty of comfortable chairs for you to rest in.”

That sounds pretty nice, actually, so Dean stands up and lets Castiel help him to the doorway. “Can you hear the mirrors from the other levels if they go off when you’re not in there?” he asks as they descend. 

“Yes,” Castiel says. “It may take a few minutes longer, particularly if I’m asleep, but they get progressively louder the longer they’re left going.”

“That sounds annoying,” Dean comments.

Castiel huffs a laugh. “Somewhat, yes,” he says. 

They reach the next landing, and Castiel opens the heavy door and guides Dean inside. Dean can feel his jaw drop as he takes in the sight. The entire circular room is filled with books-- on the shelves that line the walls, on the tables that fill the centre of the room, and even in a few scattered piles on the floor. 

“This is incredible,” Dean says softly, freeing himself from Cas’ grasp and walking slowly into the room. He trails his fingers across the spines of the books on the nearest shelf. He can’t read their titles, but they look ancient. 

“It is,” Castiel agrees. He joins Dean in front of the shelf. “I’ve spent so many hours in here.”

Dean wanders slowly around the room. He can’t make sense of the organizational system, if there is one at all, but he’s fascinated by the titles he can make out. There are books about the history of Esporia, books about healing, books about different types of grasses, and of course, a wide range of books about the weather and how to control it. 

“Do you have a favourite?” he asks.

“Hmn?” Castiel says, looking up from his examination of one of the other shelves. “Well, I have certain spell books that I use more frequently than others, but I sense that’s not what you meant. If you mean a favourite to read for enjoyment…” He crosses the room and plucks a slim volume off the shelf, and holds it out to Dean. “This is my favourite story,” he says.

“Cool,” Dean replies. He takes the book from Castiel’s hands and settles into the large burgundy armchair against the wall.

Castiel laughs, a bit surprised, and selects his own book. Then he sits down in the other armchair and begins to read.

Dean sneaks a few glances at the other man in between pages of his book. The story is good so far, but he also really likes the way Castiel looks, curled up in that chair with his nose buried in his book. A warm feeling settles into Dean’s chest at the sight. 

There isn’t much else that they can do today, so in Dean’s opinion, this a pretty good way to pass the time.


	6. Chapter 6

Castiel is starting to worry about what he’ll do once Dean leaves.

He’s known from the start that Dean’s company wouldn’t last long, but he didn’t realize just how much he would come to enjoy having someone else in the tower with him. He’s lived there alone for ten years, and in that time, he’s forgotten how much more pleasant it is to share the space with another person.

He misses Anna terribly, these days. 

His conversation with Dean about what the Watchers do once they leave the towers to their former apprentices has replayed in his mind a thousand times. On some level, he expects Anna to come back some day, even just for a visit. But she hasn’t yet done so. He supposes he could ask one of the others-- Hannah, probably-- if the Watchers before them had given any indication of where they were going when they left. But he doesn’t want to mention leaving, especially during a time of crisis. He needs to present a strong face, and to stand united with the others. 

And, for the time being, with Dean. Ever since his squad was attacked in the woods, Castiel has known that the safety of the kingdom would not depend on the Watchers alone. They will do what they can from their towers, but the Guard will be there on the ground, offering help and comfort directly to the people. It will take both the Watchers and the Guard to determine the exact nature of this threat, and then to defeat it.

And after that-- well, they’ll cross that bridge when they come to it.

He checks in on Dean, but the other man is still sleeping. He doesn’t wake him this time-- the bruise on his wrist reminds him to be cautious when approaching a well-trained fighter, and there’s no real reason that Dean needs to be awake quite yet anyways. He needs his rest. So Castiel tiptoes softly down the stairs, headed for the bathing chamber. 

He had laughed, the first time Anna showed it to him. It seemed so extravagant compared to the simple buckets and wooden tub he’d grown up with. The enchanted fire from the kitchen directly below keeps the room warm and slightly steamy. Hanging from one of the windows is a simple rope pulley that feeds into the well at the base of the tower. Castiel hauls up several buckets of water and pours them into the large stone tub set against the wall, and then speaks a simple spell to warm the water to his desired temperature. That spell is one of the first that he learned, and one of the most useful. Being able to instantaneously warm water is helpful not only for cooking and washing, but also for healing purposes, if anything needs to be sterilized.

Castiel removes his sleeping robe and climbs into the tub with a sigh of contentment. He submerges himself almost completely, leaving just his head out of the water. It’s quiet and peaceful, the morning sun streaming in through the windows. He wishes he could stay here forever, but as always, duty calls. 

It can wait a few more minutes, though.

He takes his time washing himself with the sweet orange-scented soap that he makes in large batches on quiet days. Then he tips his head back onto the edge of the tub and closes his eyes. He won’t fall asleep again, but it’s still nice to relax. After five or so minutes, he opens his eyes again and grudgingly stands up, climbing out of the tub with a considerable degree of reluctance. 

He dries himself off with a large, fluffy towel, then wraps it around his waist and picks up his discarded clothes from the floor. He removes the stopper from the tub and allows it to drain away through the pipe that runs down the side of the tower. Every time he does this, he’s impressed by the ingenuity of whoever designed and constructed this tower. It may be a lonely place to live, but it’s certainly comfortable.

He climbs back up the stairs, headed for his bedroom, but just as he rounds the corner onto the next landing, he crashes directly into something standing in his way.

Not something-- someone. Dean.

Castiel looks up in surprise. “Oh, you’re awake,” he says. He wasn’t expecting that, nor was he expecting Dean to be out of bed on his own. Otherwise, he might have been more cautious about wandering around the tower wearing nothing but a towel.

Dean doesn’t seem too bothered by his lack of clothing, if the way his eyes have dropped to Castiel’s bare chest is any indication. Castiel finds himself standing a little straighter under the other man’s gaze, and mentally berates himself for it even as he does so. He should keep walking, and pretend that this never happened, not offer himself up to be eyed like a piece of meat.

But it’s been so long since anyone looked at him with that kind of interest, and considering who it is that’s doing the looking…

“Good morning,” Dean says, finally lifting his gaze back to Castiel’s (surely flushed) face. 

 

“Good morning,” Castiel replies, pleased to note that his voice is steady. “Did you sleep well?”

Dean laughs. “Yeah, thanks.”

There’s an awkward pause while Castiel debates how best to proceed. “I’m glad to see you moving about on your own. If you go slowly, I think you can make it down to the kitchen unaided. I’ll join you for breakfast shortly.”

“Cool,” Dean says, moving past Castiel to start down the stairs. His arm brushes against Castiel’s bare side as he passes, and it sends a spark of desire rushing through Castiel. He wonders if Dean did that on purpose. 

That’s a dangerous line of thought, so Castiel turns and flees up the stairs to dress himself. If he deliberately chooses a pair of trousers that are tighter than some others, and a blue shirt that highlights his eyes, well, he can’t be faulted for enjoying someone’s attention for once.

Once he’s dressed, he practically skips down the stairs to the kitchen, only slowing right before entering the room. He finds Dean seated at the table, but the kettle has been placed over the fire, and there are two mugs ready and waiting on the table in front of him.

It’s a considerate gesture, and one that Castiel finds very endearing. “Thank you,” he says to Dean, acknowledging his assistance.

Dean shrugs. “Can’t do much right now, but I can manage a bit of help in the kitchen,” he says.

Castiel doesn’t like the note of bitterness he detects in the other man’s voice. “There’s no shame in being injured,” he says, perhaps more sharply than he intended.

“I know.” Dean’s tracing patterns on the table again. He looks up and meets Castiel’s eyes. “I’m just not used to it. Being in the Guard, we help sometimes, sure, but it’s never been anything too big, fortunately. But then this call came out about Coldstream and we were the first unit sent to investigate. I thought it was finally my chance to put all my training to use, and then wham, I get injured pretty much right away.”

Castiel understands Dean’s dilemma. He knows all too well what it feels like to be powerless in a situation where you desperately want to help. “You haven’t missed much yet,” he offers as consolation. “It was quiet last night. No further attacks.”

Dean frowns. “I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not.”

Castiel knows what he means. If there had been another attack, it would have provided them with more information. Now they’re left on edge, unsure of how to proceed. 

“Maybe they’re moving on,” Dean says thoughtfully. His eyes narrow as he thinks about it, and Castiel can tell that he’s running through strategies in his mind. For all that Dean claims to have seen little action as Captain of the Guard, he certainly doesn’t give off that impression.

“It’s a possibility,” Castiel agrees. “Coldstream has no real strategic value. It could have been first hit simply due to location.”

“So where’s the next biggest town?” Dean asks. 

Castiel considers this for a moment. “Fallowfield,” he says decisively. “If we’re correct, and they’re moving towards the capital, it’s the next decent-sized town west of here.”

“Do we have a way of getting word to them, to warn them of a potential attack?”

The voice-projection spell Dean had used to contact his squad won’t work across that far a distance. Unless…

“We can tell Balthazar,” Castiel suggests. “The Gold Tower is quite close to Fallowfield. If we contact him via the mirror, he can use the voice projection spell to warn the residents. It will be a fairly vague warning, since we have no idea what the enemy is planning, but it’s better than nothing.”

Dean nods. “Good. I like this plan. Well, I would like it better if I got to go riding off somewhere-- hey, speaking of riding, can I check on Impala?”

Castiel immediately feels guilty for completely forgetting about Dean’s horse. She saved them, after all, and he hasn’t even bothered to bring her an apple. “Of course,” he says hastily. He pours them both a mug of tea, then undoes the locking spell on the front door of the tower. 

“Keys too boring for you guys?” Dean asks.

“It’s safer this way,” Castiel says, ushering him through the door. “Keys can be stolen or copied. Magic protects magic.”

Whatever Dean is about to say in reply is lost as he catches sight of his horse grazing a few yards away from the tower. His whole face lights up, and he moves as quickly as he can towards her, letting out a soft whistle as he does. The horse raises her head and whinnies, closing the distance between them. 

Castiel watches as Dean wraps his arms around Impala’s neck in an embrace, whispering words Castiel can’t quite make out. There’s something very moving about the obvious bond between horse and rider. Dean’s face is softer than Castiel has seen it before. He thinks it suits him. 

“C’mere,” Dean says, lifting his head from Impala’s neck. “Come meet her properly.”

Cas approaches slowly. He hasn’t spent much time around horses since he was younger, with the obvious exception of the night Impala carried them both here. He stretches out a hand to her, and is pleased when she lowers her head to lip at him softly. 

“She’s lovely,” he says, stroking one hand across her powerful flank. “I can tell how much she cares for you.”

“Me and Baby against the world,” Dean says fondly, knocking his shoulder against her. 

Castiel smiles at Dean’s nickname for his horse. “She must be hungry,” he says. “Let me get her some apples.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean says. And there he is, shortening Castiel’s name again. Considering that he also nicknamed his horse, Castiel feels quite honoured to be given a special name by Dean.

He fetches a few apples and carrots that he has in the kitchen and brings them back outside. Dean is gently untangling Impala’s mane with his fingers, and she’s standing patiently through the process. 

“Here,” Castiel says, holding the food out to Dean. Dean takes an apple from him and offers it to Impala, who eats it delicately. They repeat the process until the food is gone. 

“Will she be alright for the next few days?” Castiel asks, concerned. He knows Dean will need her in good condition, ready to ride as soon as he is. 

“She should be fine with grazing,” Dean says, “though a few more apples and carrots here and there wouldn’t be a bad thing for her.”

Castiel nods. He can manage that much, despite not having the proper accommodations for a horse. He isn’t accustomed to having any visitors, but at least Dean requires the same things he does, so he’s able to provide for him more easily. 

Dean gives Impala one last pat and steps away. “We should talk to Balthazar,” he says. 

Castiel nods. “It might take you awhile to get up the stairs, though,” he teases, hardly able to believe his own daring. He’s fairly certain that Dean will know he’s joking, but it’s still a risk.

It pays off beautifully, because Dean scowls at him. “Laugh it up,” he mutters darkly. “Fortunately, you’re the one who has to do the actual magic. And based on Gabriel’s reaction yesterday…”

Dean has a point. Perhaps it’s best if Castiel is alone when he contacts Balthazar. “You’re right,” he concedes. 

“Can I take a bath in the meantime?” Dean asks somewhat sheepishly. “I’m feeling a bit gross here.”

Castiel berates himself for not thinking of that sooner. “Of course.”

He helps Dean up the stairs, and they make it to the bathing chamber without incident. Dean watches with interest as Castiel fills the tub and heats the water. He’s just starting to shrug out of his shirt when Castiel remembers their encounter on the stairs earlier, and thinks it’s probably best if he fetches clothes for Dean to change into now. 

He grabs a few things from the wardrobe in the apprentice’s quarters, deliberately not looking at the bed, still messy from Dean’s sleep, and hurries back down the stairs. 

“Here,” he says, drawing Dean’s attention to the clothes. “I’ll leave these here for you. To change into.”

Not that he would mind if Dean appeared shirtless later, but he ought to at least attempt to maintain a sense of decency around here. 

Dean just smirks at him. “Thanks,” he drawls. “It’s not a big deal, though. You already got my shirt off once when you were changing my bandages.”

“It’s fine if those get wet, but you should avoid getting the soap on them,” Castiel notes, pointedly ignoring the other part of Dean’s comment. “And we can change them again after you bathe.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean says, ever so slowly pulling his shirt over his head.

Castiel blinks at him, then beats a hasty retreat. He has things to do. He can’t stand there ogling Dean, even if Dean is basically inviting him to do so. 

He hurries up to the workroom and makes the call to Balthazar. It only takes a few minutes for the Agriculture Watcher to answer him. 

“This is a pleasant surprise,” Balthazar says. “I do hope it’s not more bad news, Castiel.”

“They say no news is good news, but in this case, I’m not so sure,” Castiel says. “I have a task for you.”

“A task?” Balthazar repeats. “You have my attention.”

“There was no attack last night,” Castiel tells him. “I suspect the enemy may be moving on. There’s little reason to continue to attack Coldstream.”

“Makes sense,” Balthazar agrees. “But what does that have to do with me?”

“I can only guess that they’ll head for the capital,” Castiel continues. “And between here and there-”

“Lies Fallowfield,” Balthazar concludes. “Yes, I see your point. As far as strategy goes, it’s sound. Maybe you should have Michael’s position.”

Castiel dismisses that comment and jumps straight to his request. “The people need to be warned. We can’t tell them what to expect, but they can still take certain precautions. I can’t reach them from here, but you can.”

“One minute to warn them of impending disaster?” Balthazar asks, immediately guessing which spell Castiel means for him to use. “Dear me, I’ll need to edit that speech quite heavily.”

“Will you do it?” Castiel demands. If not, he and Dean will have to come up with some other plan.

“Of course,” Balthazar replies, all traces of mockery gone from his tone. “Of course I will warn them, Castiel. Thank you for the suggestion.”

Castiel breathes a sigh of relief. “No, thank you,” he says. “And thank the fact that the Gold Tower is close enough to Fallowfield for you to be able to use the voice projection spell.”

“Indeed,” Balthazar says. “Well, I’d best get to writing. The more warning they have, the better.”

“Yes,” Castiel agrees. “Good luck.”

Balthazar salutes him, and the mirror goes dark. It’s only after Castiel has turned away that he realizes neither of them offered each other the traditional Watcher farewell.

Maybe because for once, they’re doing something more than just being watchful. They’re taking action, and in a preventive manner, no less. Castiel speculates that it likely has something to do with Dean’s influence. The combination of his Royal Guard training with Castiel’s power is not something to be taken lightly.

It’s enough to give Castiel hope that they can win this war, even if they don’t yet know what it is that they’re fighting against.

***

Dean’s feeling pretty good today. His injury isn’t nearly as painful as it was the day before, and he’s grateful all over again that Castiel was the one who found him in the woods. Magic is awesome.

And then, to brighten his day even further, he got to see Castiel in all his shirtless glory. Dean isn’t quite clear on how a man who spends all of his time in a tower gets a body like that, but he isn’t going to complain about it. Maybe there’s a spell for it. He should ask. 

Then he got in a visit with Impala, who seems to be taking her new (temporary) home in stride. He should have known she would be steadfast through this bizarre chain of events. 

And finally, a real bath. Dean feels so much better now that he’s clean. He dresses in the clothes Castiel left for him, and mischievously leaves the shirt slightly unlaced at the throat. It’s a dangerous game that he and Castiel are playing, but it’s a fun one, and it passes the time pleasantly while Dean is stuck here. 

It takes him twice as long to climb up to the workroom on his own as it would with Castiel’s help, but he doesn’t feel too bad once he gets there. Progress. He waits outside the door, but he can’t hear anyone talking, so he figures Castiel must already be finished talking to Balthazar. He knocks gently on the doorframe just to be safe, and he hears Castiel call out, “Enter!”

“What are you, the king?” Dean teases as he walks into the room, dropping himself heavily into the chair. “Enter!”

Castiel gives him a dirty look. “Forgive me,” he says drily. “I’m unaccustomed to the proper procedure in these cases. Should I have said something else instead?”

Dean just shakes his head, smiling. “You could teach the king a thing or two about comportment, actually,” he says thoughtfully. “He’s a bit nervous sometimes.”

“You’ve met the king?” Castiel asks eagerly. 

Dean doesn’t know why it surprises him that Castiel hasn’t. Based on the few details he knows, Castiel came to this tower at age twelve, and has been here for twenty years. He’s never mentioned visiting the capital. But somehow it strikes Dean as odd that the Watchers aren’t in closer contact with the ruler of the kingdom. 

“Uh, yeah,” he says. “Royal Guard and all. We guard the royals.”

Castiel glares at him. “What’s he like?” he demands. 

Dean thinks about it for a minute. “He’s short,” he says with a laugh. “He complains that he missed out on the kingly stature, but it makes him look approachable. And he is. He’s a bit overly dramatic at times, but he truly cares about the people, and they like him too. He’s a good king.” 

Castiel still has an awestruck expression on his face, and Dean just has to know. “So you’ve never met him? Not even by mirror?”

‘No,” Castiel says, shaking his head firmly. “Not me, anyways. Michael has. The Military Watcher. They have a special relationship, partially due to the Red Tower being the oldest, and partially due to its proximity to the capital. He’s able to travel to the palace to visit the king without leaving his tower unattended for too long, unlike the rest of us.”

“Right, but you all talk to each other with your mirrors,” Dean says, still confused. “So why couldn’t he have one too?”

Castiel starts to answer, and then stops. ‘“I suppose he could,” he says slowly. “But he would need to be trained in its use, then. The rulers of the kingdom have never learned magic. Again, too much of a chance for them to become corrupt. The Military Watcher is in charge of passing on pertinent information to the king.”

It makes a certain amount of sense, Dean supposes. But he’s used to being in close contact with the king, who is both his sovereign and his commander-in-chief. He’s also used to being close to the people he’s sworn to protect. And Castiel...well, apparently he’s close to neither.

“The more I learn about you Watchers, the stranger I think you guys are,” he says. A flash of hurt passes over Castiel’s features, and Dean immediately regrets his words. “Hey, no, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I’m not sure what other way you could have meant it,” Castiel says tightly. 

Dean pauses, collecting his thoughts carefully before opening his mouth again. “I just meant that I find it hard to understand how you can motivate yourself to protect a king and his kingdom when you have basically no contact with either of them,” he says. 

Castiel shrugs gloomily. “It takes a strong sense of conviction, that’s for sure,” he says. “But it’s the price we pay for the power we’re given. After all, you have contact with both the king and the people, but you have nowhere near the same amount of power as I do.”

Dean’s jaw drops. Did Castiel just insinuate that the Guard is useless? Powerless? Or that Dean is in particular? “Wow, tell me how you really feel, Cas,” he bites out. 

Now it’s Castiel’s turn to look ashamed. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, echoing Dean’s earlier words. “I suppose what I’m trying to say is that we both want to help. We just have very different ways of doing so. Two extremes, as it were.”

Dean has had similar thoughts over the few days he’s spent in Grey Tower. The two systems, the Watchers and the Guard, were both born of a desire to protect the kingdom. They take radically different approaches to doing so, but neither is better than the other, really, even if one of them does have magic. Being here has taught Dean that magic isn’t the solution to every problem, and that there are situations it can’t change. 

Thinking about that kind of scenario brings up bad memories, but once the thought enters Dean’s mind, he can’t shake it. “Hey, Cas?” he asks tentatively. 

“Yes, Dean?”

“How bad does it have to get before you guys intervene?”

“I’m not quite sure what you mean,” Castiel frowns.

Dean struggles to put his thoughts into the right words. Eventually, he gives up trying to be vague about it, and just tells Castiel the reason he’s asking. “So,” he says, taking a deep breath. “My mom died when I was just a kid. There was a fire at our neighbour’s house, something went wrong in the kitchen, I don’t know for sure. She had been over there helping out with the kids, you know, being a good neighbour. Mom got the kids out, but she got trapped. Everyone said it was lucky that the rain started when it did, or the fire would have spread to more houses.”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel says, gently laying his hand on Dean’s shoulder in a comforting gesture. “But I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“Do you think the Weather Watcher sent the rain?” Dean asks. “I don’t remember that day all that well, but I don’t think it was cloudy earlier. And the way people talked about it, it definitely seemed like it could have been deliberate.”

“That would make sense,” Castiel says, his expression thoughtful. “If the fire was powerful at the start, it would have been enough to set off the corresponding mirror. We’re taught to judge the potential harm of a situation before acting. If it seemed like the fire would spread, causing more damage and injury, then yes, the Watcher might have sent the rain. I can’t say for sure, as it would have been before my time, but it seems plausible.”

Dean doesn’t know what to do with that information. If someone had told him a few days ago that the Watcher had sent the rain to stop the fire but that it was too late for Mary Winchester, Dean would have been furious. He would have railed against the Watchers as a whole, written them off as useless and heartless. Asked what the point of their power was if it couldn’t save his mother. 

But now that he’s spent time here in the Grey Tower, spent time with Castiel, he has a better understanding of the limitations of the Watchers’ magic. The Weather Watcher had probably sent the rain as quickly as they could. It would have taken time to prepare the spell, and in that time, Mary had died. It was awful, but Dean can’t blame her death on the Watcher’s carelessness or lack of concern. It had simply been bad timing.

Castiel is still watching him carefully. “I’m okay,” Dean reassures him. “Just a lot to think about.”

“It’s not a perfect system,” Castiel says. “We haven’t devised a way to enchant the mirrors to warn us before something disastrous happens, especially if it’s a matter of human error. We deal more with corrective measures than preventive ones.”

“Except for today,” Dean says smugly. “With our warning to Fallowfield.”

Castiel chuckles. “Yes, well, I suspect that has a lot to do with your influence,” he says. 

He’s probably right. Just more proof that they can do an awful lot of good if they cooperate here. 

“So, Balthazar agreed to the plan?” he asks. 

Castiel nods. “Yes, he’ll do it. He was rather impressed with the idea. I had to take full credit for it, though, since I couldn’t exactly tell him that you were here with me, working with me on how best to defeat this enemy.”

“No, I guess not.” Dean doesn’t want to cause any trouble for Castiel, so it’s best if no one else knows that he’s there. Castiel says Gabriel will keep their secret, and Dean has to trust that. He doesn’t know what the penalty is for infiltrating one of the Watchtowers, but he suspects it isn’t pleasant. 

There’s a sudden shrill sound from one of the mirrors on the wall, and Castiel whirls around the face it, nearly tripping over Dean’s chair in his haste. Dean rises, slightly more slowly, and follows him to the other side of the room.

Castiel whispers into the mirror, and it brightens, showing them a patch of road and a decent-sized town in the distance.

“Fallowfield,” Castiel says worriedly. “I believe we may have been correct in our assumption that they would be the next target. Balthazar should have warned them by now, but they won’t have had much time to prepare.”

“What can we do?” Dean demands. He’s itching to run down the stairs and leap onto Impala’s back, making his way west, but he knows it would be a terrible idea. 

Castiel pinches the bridge of his nose. “Nothing, until we know what they’re doing,” he replies, clearly frustrated. 

Dean is still watching the mirror. “Uh, Cas,” he says, “I think I know what they’re doing.”

The sky, which minutes ago had been bright blue, is rapidly darkening under a thick blanket of clouds. 

Castiel lets out an oath, surprising Dean. “They’re using weather magic?” he says angrily. “How do they even-- it doesn’t matter. What matters is why.”

Dean’s mind is racing. He remembers how the things they had been fighting had blended so well into the dark, how they had been scared away by Castiel’s bolt of lightning. “The darkness,” he says. “They need the darkness. And we know to expect them at night now, so they’re switching it up. This lets them attack any time they want.”

Castiel nods sharply. “Not if I have anything to say about it,” he mutters, pushing back the sleeves of his shirt. There’s a fierce expression on his face that Dean probably shouldn’t find so attractive, especially at a time like this. But he does.

“What can I do?” he asks. He knows this is Castiel’s time to shine, but he won’t stand by and do nothing. 

Castiel is whirling around the room, gathering supplies. “Bring that with you,” he says, gesturing to the large, leather-bound volume on the table. “Follow me.”

He sweeps out of the room, Dean trailing behind. He’s surprised when Castiel begins climbing up the stairs rather than down. From what he recalls, Castiel’s bedchamber is at the top of the tower. Why would they be headed there?

Castiel flings open the door and deposits his armful of materials on a wooden table, gesturing to Dean to do the same. Then he crosses to the other side of the room and begins pulling on a complicated-looking system of levers that Dean doesn’t recognize.

There’s a loud creaking noise from above them, and Dean looks up to see the roof slowly drawing back, revealing the sky above. His mouth drops open in shock. He must make some noise of disbelief, because Castiel looks over at him and grins. “If one is going to work on the sky, one needs access to the sky,” he says.

A few more pulls on the lever, and the roof is completely retracted, leaving the entire top of the tower exposed. Dean lets out a low whistle. “That is impressive,” he comments.

“It’s useful, too,” Castiel says, opening the book and scanning its contents quickly. “I don’t know who is controlling those clouds, but I do know one thing-- they aren’t me.”

On any other day, Dean would probably laugh at Castiel’s confidence and call it arrogance instead. But today, he just hopes that he’s right. 

Castiel works furiously, and Dean does his best to help. He passes ingredients, holds the bowl, blows out the flame when required. He turns the pages of the spellbook when Castiel’s hands are otherwise occupied. As concerned as he is about the safety of the people of Fallowfield, he can’t deny that he’s thrilled to be a part of this. Magic. Dean is doing magic.

They’ve just added the last of the rose oil to the bowl, and Castiel announces that they’re done with this part of the spell.

“So, now what?” Dean asks.

Castiel gives him a look that Dean can’t quite decipher. “Now,” he says, “comes the hard part.”

“What can I do?’ Dean asks.

“Nothing,” Castiel replies. “I’m sorry, Dean, I know you only wish to help. And your assistance has been invaluable so far, we’re ready far sooner than I would have been on my own. But for now, I’ll just ask you to stand back.”

Dean wants to protest, but he’s quelled by a glare from the other man. Grumbling only slightly, Dean takes up a position near the doorway, and watches.

Castiel stands in the centre of the room, the copper bowl at his feet, still smoking slightly. He raises his arms above his head, palms flat and facing towards the sky. He says a short phrase that Dean doesn’t understand, and then picks up the bowl, plunging his hands directly into it.

Dean watches with fascination as Castiel drops the bowl to the ground. It makes a clanging noise that he completely ignores, and rolls away to rest near Dean’s feet. He would stoop to pick it up, but he can’t take his eyes off Castiel.

The Watcher is chanting again, low and urgent. This time his hands are spread in front of him at shoulder height, facing down to the ground. As his voice gets progressively louder, he raises his arms slowly until they’re stretched above his head, palms now facing forward. They also appear to be glowing.

Dean can feel chills crawling down his spine. This is power, raw and remarkable. It’s breathtaking to witness. 

Suddenly, Castiel shouts out a single word and snaps his fingers loudly. There’s a cracking noise from the sky above them, and then it all goes quiet.

“Cas?” Dean ventures. The other man is standing still, and Dean can’t see his face. “Cas, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Castiel says shortly, turning around. He hurries past Dean and down the stairs. “We have to check on them.”

Dean follows at a more reasonable pace. He finds Castiel in the workroom, staring into the mirror that had earlier shown them the gathering clouds. The sky is once again blue and clear.

“It worked,” Dean says in amazement. “Not that I ever doubted you, of course, but still, that’s incredible, I was so worried that I would mess it up somehow, but of course you made it work, it’s basically your job to be good at this--”

“Dean,” Castiel interrupts him. “You’re babbling.”

Dean stops before he embarrasses himself further. He’s just so overwhelmed by the enormity of what they just did. What Castiel just did.

And there he is, standing there in the middle of the room, calm and collected and with maybe just a hint of satisfaction on his face. His dark hair is an absolute disaster, swept in a thousand different directions, and he has a smudge of something on his cheek. His shirt is askew at the neck, and one sleeve is still pushed up past the elbow while the other has fallen back into place.

He looks incredible.

Before he even realizes what he’s doing, Dean is crossing the room towards him. Castiel looks up at him as he approaches, and Dean swears he can see lightning flash in his bright blue eyes. He looks dangerous, almost otherworldly. 

Dean reaches out one hand and fists it in the collar of Castiel’s shirt, dragging him into a rough kiss. 

Castiel makes a surprised noise, but he doesn’t pull away. Dean buries his other hand in his dark hair, messing it up even further, and deepens the kiss. Castiel is kissing him back with equal intensity, and Dean thinks he can taste thunder on his lips. 

It’s addictive, the taste of him, the feel of him under Dean’s hands. He wants more of it. But he also needs to breathe. He pulls away slightly and leans his forehead against Castiel’s, letting them both catch their breath.

“Dean,” Castiel murmurs, his normally deep voice even rougher than usual. Whether it’s from the chanting or the kissing, Dean isn’t sure, but he knows he likes the sound of it. A lot. 

Castiel kisses him again, and Dean surrenders to it happily. There’ll be time for breathing later.


	7. Chapter 7

It shouldn’t be that much of a surprise, that he’s currently being well and thoroughly kissed by Dean Winchester. Neither of them have been particularly subtle about their interest in one another. And yet Castiel is surprised. He wasn’t expecting this to happen while his hands still smell of the herbs used in the last spell, while his hair is still standing on end from the wind blowing through the open roof.

He’s not complaining, though. Not at all.

Dean kisses like it’s a mission, like Castiel is the target and the objective is to overwhelm him, to render him speechless. It’s all Castiel can do to remain upright, clinging tightly to Dean’s solid shoulders, feeling the warmth of his body through the thin material of his shirt. Dean’s hands are everywhere, touching him carefully at first, still unsure what’s allowed, but growing bolder when Castiel makes no protest. 

Dean has just reached up to further loosen the laces at the neck of Castiel’s shirt, his mouth trailing hot kisses over Castiel’s jawline. Castiel tilts his head to the side, baring his neck invitingly, and then, like an idiot--

“I’ve been thinking about this for so long,” he breathes out. 

Dean huffs a laugh, his mouth still somewhere in the vicinity of Castiel’s ear. “We’ve only known each other for, what, two days?”

Castiel freezes. He didn’t mean to say that out loud. If he’s quick enough, he can play it off with a joking line about how it feels like longer--

But Dean must have noticed the sudden tension in his body, because he’s pulling back, a slight frown on his flushed face.

“Cas?” he says. “You okay?”

Castiel is torn. He can make up some excuse about being a bit overwhelmed, and then distract Dean with his kisses, never telling him the truth. But he won’t. Now that he’s gotten himself into this situation, he should play it out to its logical conclusion, even if Dean hates him for it afterwards. It would be dishonest to trick him, especially considering where their actions are headed.

“I have to tell you something,” Castiel says, awkwardly looking at the ground. He backs away from Dean and leans against the edge of the table, indicating to Dean that he should take the chair. Dean does as he suggests, sitting down with his hands clasped in his lap.

“What is it?” Dean asks, his voice gentle. He probably thinks Castiel is having some sort of panic attack about them kissing. He won’t be so soft with him once he knows the truth.

Castiel gathers his nerve. “The night I found you in the woods,” he says. “That wasn’t the first time I saw you.”

Dean blinks at him, confused. “Okay…”

“I didn’t do it on purpose.” Castiel has to make this clear from the start. Maybe it will be enough to convince Dean to forgive him. “The mirror went off, and I was trying to determine the problem, and then you were there, and--”

Dean holds up a hand to stop him. “You saw me in one of your mirrors?” he asks.

Castiel nods weakly. “Not just once, either,” he whispers.

A look of disgust passes over Dean’s face, and it makes Castiel want to curl up and hide. “What, you get your jollies watching people in your mirrors? Can’t let anyone into your precious tower so you just spy on them instead?”

“No!” Castiel exclaims. “It wasn’t like that. I just...thought you were so handsome.”

“How many times, Castiel?” Dean asks coldly. His words are clipped, and his hands are clinging tightly to the arms of the chair now like he’s trying to restrain himself. 

“I’m not sure,” Castiel admits. “Three or so. But as I said, the mirror went off, and you just happened to be there at the Great Falls, I couldn’t _not_ see you.”

Dean’s face is still tight with anger. Castiel suspects that if he were in better health, Dean would have punched him by now. 

“Okay, so you saw me in your mirror,” Dean says. “You must see people all the time. What made me so special, huh?”

Castiel has wondered that himself, especially before he actually met Dean. “I can’t explain it,” he says miserably. “The first time, you were fighting with someone-- based on what I know about you now, I assume it was your brother.”

“Oh, great,” Dean mutters. “So you were not only creeping on me, but witnessing me at my finest. Perfect. And what, I was just such a charming guy that you kept coming back for more?”

“That mirror kept going off,” Castiel insists. “And you just kept being there.”

Dean glares at him, but the tension in his body has lessened somewhat. Castiel feels a faint hope that maybe things will be okay. “I do like that spot,” Dean admits grudgingly. “Spent a lot of time there, training with my squad.”

Castiel nods eagerly. “I don’t turn all my mirrors on, looking for attractive people in them,” he says. “But sometimes they just happen to be there.”

Dean still looks displeased. “I’m really starting to dislike this system of yours,” he says. “You get all the fancy powers and spells, and you watch over the rest of us without us even knowing about it.”

Castiel’s patience is wearing thin. “You do know about it,” he says, letting his irritation show in his voice. “You knew about the Watchers when you got here, you were just fuzzy on some of the details. Magical surveillance is a fact of life in this kingdom, Dean. Besides, it’s not like we’re peeking into the bedchambers of the people.”

“How are we supposed to know that, huh?” Dean challenges him.

Castiel rolls his eyes dramatically. “The mirrors only light up when we need to be warned. They’re keyed to certain locations, all of which are public spaces. The only things we’d ever witness are things you would be doing where anyone could pass by and see you anyways.”

Castiel can see Dean thinking it through, taking these points into consideration.

“And you swear you never looked for me, or for anyone else, on purpose?” Dean questions him after a moment. His expression is neutral, but his eyes have softened.

“Yes,” Castiel says firmly. “I wasn’t looking for you. You were just there. I would never use my power to look for someone out of my own selfish desire, Dean, you have to believe me.”

There’s a long, tense moment of silence between them. Dean stares into Castiel’s eyes like they will make everything clear, and then finally looks away. 

“I guess it must be weird, always seeing things without people being able to see you back,” Dean says, still looking away from him.

“Yes,” Castiel replies. “We can see everything, essentially, but we can’t be seen in return. It creates an imbalance right from the start. We can’t allow ourselves to take advantage of it. It would be the basest kind of trickery. I swear to you, Dean, I was only doing what I have been trained to do for twenty years-- watching, observing, and intervening when necessary.” Castiel spreads his hands in a helpless gesture. “It was only by chance that you were at the Falls on the day and time that mirror went off, and that I had to keep checking it and seeing you again.”

Dean nods, and slowly sits back down in the chair. Castiel relaxes, no longer bracing for a fight. Greatly daring, he approaches Dean, perching on the edge of the table beside him.

“I know it’s a strange thing to wrap your head around,” he says softly. “I assure you, Dean, I was completely shocked when I found you in the woods and realized I had seen you before. I never thought we would actually meet.”

“Never thought I would meet a Watcher, either,” Dean mutters. “Guess we both got a surprise that night.”

“I understand if you’re uncomfortable around me now,” Castiel says, doing his best to keep his voice steady. 

Dean looks at him briefly, then looks away. “Nah,” he says, though he sounds like he’s trying to convince himself as much as Castiel. “It’s not all that different from the way some people see me on patrol now and then and get all sorts of crazy ideas about me, when I know absolutely nothing about them.”

“So you’re saying you’re used to the attention?”

Dean laughs. Just slightly, but still. “Something like that,” he says. “It’s weird. I won’t deny it. This whole thing is weird, though-- the attack on Coldstream, me rushing out of Sam’s wedding to get here, then being attacked in the woods and rescued by you, coming back to this tower. You having seen me in your magic mirrors before, it’s just another layer of strange.”

Well, at least Dean seems to have calmed down enough that he’s unlikely to attempt to storm out in disgust. Castiel supposes that’s probably the best outcome he could have hoped for. As much as it pains him to know that Dean will no longer want to kiss him or touch him again, he knows he did the right thing. 

Dean takes a deep breath, and Castiel braces himself for the inevitable. “Look, Cas,” Dean says, and Castiel is only somewhat comforted that the nickname is being used again, “I’m starting to get a bit tired. I think I should just head to bed.”

“Of course,” Castiel says hastily. “Do you need any assistance on the stairs?”

Dean smiles at him, though it’s a bit forced. “No, thanks,” he says. “I’ll, uh, see you in the morning, I guess.”

It’s only early evening, but Castiel doesn’t blame Dean for fleeing. He probably would too, were he in Dean’s position. Assuming that the healing spell is still functioning properly, Dean should be ready to ride by the next morning. Naturally he would want to avoid Castiel until then, in light of what he just learned.

Castiel watches forlornly as Dean makes his way to the door. He hesitates there for a second, and Castiel thinks he might say something, but then he just gives a little wave and leaves the room. Castiel sighs and slumps to the ground in front of the table. 

The adrenaline has worn off, and between the spell-casting and his confession to Dean, Castiel is exhausted. He’s well-aware that the hard stone floor is not the best place for him to sit and regain his strength, but he can’t be bothered to drag himself back up to his bedchamber. Even though his body needs it, he doubts he’ll be able to fall asleep. He’s still too preoccupied with thoughts of Dean.

Ever since he arrived, Dean has been raising valid points about the Watchers and their powers, points that have Castiel questioning the very system he helps maintain every single day. As much as Castiel knows that his only desire is to use his powers to help people, Dean once again showed him today just how easily that power could be misused. A Watcher could very well choose a certain person to fixate on, and observe them repeatedly without them ever being aware of it. It’s a distasteful thought, and Castiel wants to believe that no Watcher would ever stoop to such a level, but--

He knows very well just how lonely the position can be. Good intentions can easily turn bad, and what starts as a harmless observation can develop into something much more sinister. He himself had the moral fortitude to be uncomfortable with seeing Dean repeatedly, but perhaps not everyone would. 

And no one would ever know. There’s no system in place for the Watchers to be watched, and while they can communicate with one another, that channel has to be opened by mutual consent. If one of them did abuse their power, the others would have no way of knowing. 

Castiel feels highly uncomfortable, and not just because he’s sitting on the cold hard floor. 

What other kind of abuses could the Watchers perpetrate? What other ways could they find to misuse the gifts they have been given? He trusts Hannah and Michael and Gabriel and Balthazar entirely. He doesn’t believe that they would ever do such things. But there have been many Watchers throughout the years, and who’s to say that they all had such strong moral fibre? 

He levers himself up off the floor and stretches out his back. He has to clear his head. He leaves the room and clatters down the stairs, pausing briefly outside Dean’s door, but he hears nothing from the other side, so he leaves the other man in peace. He has to prove to him that he can respect his privacy.

He reaches the kitchen and puts the kettle over the fire to boil. He could use the water-warming spell on it, but for some reason tea always tastes better when the water has been boiled without magic. He’s also still feeling the strain of that last spell, and it makes no sense to waste his energy now. 

He feels restless, anxious. He wants to talk to someone, but he doesn’t know who. He can’t share his concerns about the Watchtower system with the others-- they’ll worry that he’s defecting. Though, he could contact Hannah under the pretense of needing a spell to help him recover--

Yes, that’s a good plan. Once his tea is ready, he wearily climbs back up to the workroom and lays his hand on the blue-framed mirror. It isn’t long before Hannah’s concerned face appears.

“Castiel, you look awful,” she says. Blunt as ever. 

“I feel awful,” he says, equally blunt. 

“I was watching what you did, near Fallowfield,” she says, softer this time. “Excellent work, Castiel.”

“Yes, well, as you can see, it wasn’t easy.” He indicates his messy hair and pale face. “If this is going to be a regular occurrence, we’re all going to need to be in peak condition.”

Hannah’s face turns thoughtful. “Drink your tea,” she orders. 

Castiel does as he’s told.

“It would be easier if we were all together,” Hannah says, running her hands through her dark hair. “There are spells that allow the users to share in each other’s power and their pain, so that if one of us needed to use our particular talents, we would have the strength of the others to draw on. But we can’t work that spell unless we’re all gathered in one place.”

Castiel makes a disappointed face. That is unlikely to happen. “There has to be something else,” he says.

“Aside from the usual advice to sleep well, eat properly, and do some sort of physical activity, I don’t think there is,” Hannah says regretfully. “We’re not soldiers, Castiel.”

“But we’re at war nevertheless,” he snaps. He regrets his tone when he sees Hannah’s eyes widen in shock. “I’m sorry,” he says. He seems to be saying that a lot lately.

“It’s alright,” Hannah tells him. “I’ll blame it on the fact that you’re obviously under a great deal of stress. Finish your tea, Castiel, and try to relax while you can. Worrying does you no good, and it will make you less capable of acting when the necessary time comes.”

That’s actually good advice. It makes sense even to his exhausted mind. “Thank you, Hannah,” he says.

“You’re welcome, Castiel.” She smiles at him and ends the connection. 

Even that brief conversation helps to settle his nerves and assuage some of his worries about the Watchers and their abilities. Castiel feels much calmer as he drains the last of his tea. Hannah is right-- it’s important that he stays focused. He can’t waste his energy worrying when he might need it for the next spell. Now is the time to refresh and recharge himself. He’s not a soldier, as she pointed out, but he is, in some ways, a weapon. An important piece of the battle against these unknown but clearly malevolent forces. 

It’s still far earlier in the evening than he would normally go to bed, but there’s little else to be done tonight. He does his usual night-time check of the mirrors, ensuring that they’re all working properly. Satisfied that he will be alerted if anything else goes wrong, he leaves the workroom and goes back to his bedchamber.

The room is still messy from his earlier spell-casting, so he clears away the ingredients and tools he had used, piling them all in a corner of the table to take back downstairs the next day. He debates closing the roof, but the sky is clear, and he finds it soothing to sleep with the breeze flowing freely around him. He strips off his shirt and trousers and changes into a pair of loose sleep pants, then climbs into bed.

It has been an incredibly eventful day, and Castiel is glad to close his eyes on it. His mind is still whirling from everything that occurred: the threat to Fallowfield, his intervention, Dean kissing him, his subsequent confession. He doesn’t know whether to count the day as a victory or as a loss. 

Like most days, he thinks, it’s likely a bit of both.

***

Now that he’s had some time to think about, Dean realizes he might have overreacted.

He also slept for a few hours, and that always gives him a fresh perspective.

Okay, so it was pretty freaky that Castiel had seen him in one of those mirrors before. But it wasn’t like he had been naked or anything. He was just out and about, doing his normal everyday activities, and Castiel happened to be looking at the place where he was. And as he said, it’s not like he hasn’t had to deal with people getting a little too interested in him before. The downsides of a pretty face and a fancy uniform. 

He’s glad Castiel told him before things went any further between them, though. Maybe Dean never would have found out, or maybe he would have at some point much further down the road, but if they had ended up in bed together with that still a secret, Dean wouldn’t have been too happy when it was eventually brought to light. 

He’s pretty sure Castiel thinks he’s still mad at him. The defeated expression on his face as Dean left the room was almost enough to make Dean stay, but he’s pretty sure giving himself some time alone to think was the right decision. 

And now that he has thought about it… 

He still wants Cas. 

It was never going to be a perfect, regular thing between them anyways. They have no chance of a future together, between the looming war and the differences in their lifestyles. But Dean can’t deny that there’s something magnetic between the two of them. Maybe Castiel recognized it right from the start when he first saw Dean in that mirror of his. 

Maybe something brought the two of them together for a reason. They’ve already proved that they work well together, that their skills sets are complementary. The personal connection between them is a bonus. 

He knows it’s late, but he wonders if Castiel is still awake. By his reckoning, Dean will be ready to ride in the morning. He can’t deny that he’s eager to leave, to be back with his squad and the rest of the Guard, to contribute to the defense of the realm.

But that’s the morning, and it isn’t here yet.

He adjusts his clothes in the mirror, takes a deep breath, and goes in search of Castiel. He’s not in the library, nor in the workroom. Dean supposes it’s possible that he’s on one of the lower levels, but since he’s already almost there, it makes more sense to check Castiel’s bedchamber first.

The door is slightly ajar, so Dean pushes it open. He doesn’t want to knock in case Castiel is asleep, doesn’t want to risk waking him. He takes a step into the room, and blinks in surprise.

The roof is still open to the night sky, moonlight streaming in. Castiel is standing in the centre of the room, bare-chested, his back to the door. He doesn’t seem to have heard Dean enter.

“Cas?” Dean says softly. Maybe he’s working on a spell.

Castiel starts, and turns around to face him. “Dean?” he says, as though he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “Are you alright?”

Of course he’s concerned for Dean’s health. It makes Dean smile. “I’m fine,” he says, taking another step into the room. Another step closer to Castiel. “I just didn’t want to be alone.”

He sees Castiel’s throat move as he swallows. “I don’t want to be alone either,” he says, his voice low. “I was sleeping, but--”

Dean glances at the large bed, the covers rumpled like they were hastily kicked off. “Bad dream?” he asks sympathetically. He’s had his fair share of those, especially after the fire that took his mother’s life.

Castiel nods. “About today. What might have happened if we hadn’t been able to dispel those clouds.”

Dean notices that he said _we_ , not _I_. He quite likes the way it sounds. He takes another step into the room. “We did, though,” he reminds Castiel. “We helped a lot of people today, Cas.”

Castiel looks up at him and manages a small smile. “Rationally, I’m well aware of that,” he says. “But dreams don’t often play by rational rules.”

“True,” Dean concedes. “Want to talk about it?”

“Why would you want to talk to me, after what I told you?” Castiel asks bitterly. His shoulders are hunched defensively, and he just looks so sad. Dean’s heart aches for him, this poor, lonely man who tries so hard to do the right thing, and feels it so deeply when he makes a mistake. 

“I’m not mad anymore,” he replies, and it’s true. He isn’t ashamed of his earlier reaction. It was valid at the time, and would still be perfectly valid now. But the only one who gets to dictate how Dean feels about the situation is Dean himself. 

Castiel looks at him, still wary. “It’s alright if you are,” he starts to say, but Dean cuts him off.

“Of course it would be alright if I were still mad,” he says, “but I’m telling you, I’m not. So stop acting so careful about it. I forgive you.”

Castiel blinks at him. The planes and angles of his face are sharper in the moonlight. “Dean,” he says, so quietly that Dean can barely hear him. “I don’t--”

“Don’t what? Don’t believe me? Don’t deserve this? Let me tell you, unless the rest of that sentence was going to be ‘Dean, I don’t want you here,’ you’re not getting rid of me that easily.” It’s a stronger declaration of intent than Dean was expecting to make at this point in the evening, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s true.

Castiel licks his lips. It’s a small, subtle movement, but even in the dim light, Dean notices. He raises an eyebrow at Cas and stays where is. He’s pretty sure he’s made his point clear. Cas has to be the one to decide if he’s going to take what’s on the table or not.

There’s a brief pause, and then Castiel squares his shoulders and crosses the distance between them in two short steps. He reaches out and cups Dean’s face in his hand, searching his eyes for any sign of protest. Dean meets his gaze with a hint of challenge, and then Castiel’s lips are on his again, and Dean is lost to the sensation.

It’s already so different from their earlier kisses. Those were fueled by raw desire and the adrenaline of the spell they worked, but this runs deeper. There’s something about it that Dean can’t explain, a truth and an honesty and a rightness that shakes him to his core. 

He shakes off his analysis of _why_ it feels so good, and focuses on the feelings instead.

They’re not touching anywhere other than their lips, and considering that Castiel’s entire chest is exposed, Dean considers that a travesty. Fortunately, it’s one that is easily remedied. Dean places a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, feeling the flex of his muscles under his warm skin. Castiel arches into his touch and brings both of his hands up around Dean’s waist, toying with the hem of his shirt. 

Dean pulls away for a second, admiring the way Castiel’s lips are swollen from his kisses, noticeable even in the dim light of the moon. “Bed?” he asks, his own voice husky. 

“Bed,” Castiel agrees. They stumble backwards, still holding tightly to one another. Maybe Castiel has also been thinking about the fact that Dean will be leaving in the morning. Maybe he also wants to keep this as long as they possibly can.

Castiel eases gracefully onto the bed, and Dean follows more slowly, mindful of the injury in his side even if it isn’t currently troubling him. He lays down besides Castiel, then sits back up. Castiel looks confused for a second, so Dean smiles reassuringly down at him as he slowly peels off his shirt, tossing it carelessly onto the floor.

“Figured it was about time we matched,” he says with a cheeky grin. 

“It is only fair, after all,” Castiel replies solemnly, but there’s a spark in his eyes that promises all sorts of good things for Dean. 

As soon as Dean’s settled back comfortably on the bed, Castiel rolls over, straddling him. Dean’s hands automatically come up to rest on the other man’s hips. They’re good hips, sharply defined, and they make excellent handholds. Dean lightly brushes his finger across the sensitive skin there and delights in the way it makes Castiel shudder. 

“Tell me something,” he says, as Castiel leans down to leave a trail of kisses across his collarbones. “Were you walking around in that towel earlier just to drive me crazy?”

Castiel huffs a laugh against Dean’s skin. “No, that was a happy accident,” he says. 

“I’ll say,” Dean mutters. “I’m not complaining, though.”

“Good.” Castiel kisses him once, firmly, then pulls back. The motion brings their groins into closer contact, and Dean shifts his hips up, seeking more friction. Castiel chuckles and grinds forward, giving Dean what he was wordlessly asking for. Dean can’t stop himself-- he lets out a broken moan at the feeling, which is enough to convince Castiel to repeat his movement. 

“As much as I would love to plumb the depths of my filthy imagination here,” Castiel says, and how he can sound so calm, Dean has no idea, “I think that we have to take both your injury and and my residual weakness from the spellcasting into account.”

Dean feels like he might cry. “Are you saying we should stop?” He will, of course, but he won’t be happy about it.

“Certainly not,” Castiel says, obviously offended by the very suggestion. “I’m simply stating that we may have to select less vigorous activities.”

At this point, Dean will be quite happy if Cas just keeps rubbing up on him the way he has. He’s so far gone already, it’s a bit ridiculous. 

“Did you have anything in particular in mind?” he asks instead. Dean’s a giver. Always has been. He likes making his partners feel good, likes watching them come undone, especially when it’s strictly a one-night thing. When it’s with someone repeatedly, well, then there’s more time to get creative.

Castiel gives him this wicked little grin that makes Dean’s heartbeat speed up. He reaches down, toying with the laces at the top of Dean’s trousers. “May I?” he asks. Still so damn polite. 

Dean nods, and tries not to make too much noise as Castiel’s hands brush against his straining erection as he eases the trousers down Dean’s legs. Then he realizes that despite the fact that the roof is open, there’s no one within earshot. They can be as loud as they want, and no one will hear them. 

It’s kind of nice.

Once Dean’s trousers are out of the way, Castiel pulls off his thin cotton underwear as well, leaving Dean bare to his gaze. And Dean’s done this a lot, and he knows he looks good without clothes on, but there’s something in the way that Castiel is looking at him that makes it feel like something entirely new. Dean swallows roughly and tugs at Castiel’s pants, indicating that he should take them off as well.

Castiel rolls away for a minute to remove his sleep pants, and Dean finds that he misses the weight of him. He’s back almost immediately, though, and Dean can’t complain about the fact that he’s naked as well. There’s miles of skin to discover, and Dean reaches out to explore eagerly. 

For a few minutes, they just touch each other: Castiel’s hands toying with Dean’s nipples, making his back arch off the mattress, Dean’s hands sliding down Castiel’s back until he can grab at his perfect ass. That move causes Castiel to buck forward sharply, and they both groan at the feeling of their bare cocks against one another. 

Dean could come just from this, he knows it. It’s already building in his stomach, and the little noises that Castiel keeps letting out are only adding to his pleasure. But then Castiel whispers something that sounds less like a noise of pleasure and more like one of purpose, and then his hands start glowing.

Dean starts and tries to pull back, but Castiel soothes him, running a glowing hand over his thigh. “It’s okay, Dean,” he says. “I want to try something.”

Dean’s open to a lot of things in bed, but this is new. Then again, he’s never had sex with anyone who could do magic before. Maybe this is normal for Castiel.

The hand that’s still resting on Dean’s leg is getting warmer. Not hot, just pleasant. Dean looks up at Castiel, who smiles at him reassuringly, and then wraps his other hand around both of their dicks.

Dean’s head falls back against the pillows as he lets out an unholy noise. Whatever that spell was that Castel did, Dean wants to learn it. His hand is still glowing, and it’s so warm, the pressure and heat combining in a way that leaves Dean gasping.

“Good?” Castiel asks, maybe just a little bit smugly. Dean retaliates by digging his hands into his hips and bringing them closer together. 

“You know it’s good,” Dean gasps out. 

Castiel’s rhythm falters for a minute. “Yes,” he manages.

Dean has never felt anything like this before. It feels both pleasurable and comforting, somehow, and he sort of doesn’t want it to end. That’s unlikely though, considering how close he is to orgasm.

“Fuck, Cas, I’m gonna come,” he warns. 

Castiel just speeds up his movements, and the slick drag of their cocks against each other, cradled in his warm hand, is enough to tip Dean over the edge. He comes with a moan that seems to go on forever, and a few seconds later, he feels Castiel join him with a broken sound of his own. 

Castiel slumps forward, careful not to rest any of his weight on Dean’s injured side, and murmurs something that causes the glow to fade from his hands. He reaches down and finds Dean’s discarded shirt, using it to wipe them both clean. Then he rolls over until his torso is on the bed beside Dean but their legs are still tangled together, and rests his head directly over Dean’s heart.

Dean runs a shaky hand through his sweaty hair, pressing an absent-minded kiss to the top of his head. Castiel chuckles lightly. “I’m not a cat,” he says, but he doesn’t pull away.

“No, you’re a nerdy little enchanter who uses his magic to reduce mere mortals like me to sweaty, gasping messes,” he says.

“Hmn, I like that,” Castiel says. “In all honesty, I feel like I cheated somewhat with that spell, but I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“What do you mean, cheated?” Dean asks, craning his neck so he can get a better look at Cas.

Castiel sighs. “This is rather embarrassing to admit, but, well…” he trails off.

“Oh shit, Cas, was that your first time?” Dean asks hurriedly. Crap. He wishes he had known beforehand. But Castiel had seemed pretty confident.

“What? No,” Castiel shakes his head. “But, first in a long time.”

Oh, okay. That’s better. But still. Dean gives him a suspicious look. “How long is a long time?”

Castiel shrugs, and seeing as he’s still naked, it’s a very nice sight indeed, but Dean refuses to be distracted. “Ten years,” he says.

Dean sputters. Ten years? And then it hits him. “Oh,” he says awkwardly. “I guess that makes sense. No one is supposed to be here, and you’re not supposed to just leave.”

“Precisely,” Castiel says, cuddling in closer. 

“But you’ve been here twenty years, you said,” Dean states, still trying to figure it all out. 

“Yes,” Castiel says with a sigh, “but when I was still an apprentice, the rules weren’t as strict. Anna would still be here to watch over things, so I was able to travel more freely, to spend more time away from the tower.”

“So you got all your adventuring done then, huh,” Dean says. Still not the best situation, really. Castiel had to give up so much just to be here. Not only the sex itself, but the chance to make those human connections, even to feel another person’s casual touch.

He holds him a little closer, and Castiel doesn’t seem bothered by it. “Well, you definitely impressed me,” he says.

“That’s good,” Castiel murmurs sleepily. He seems younger, softer like this. It’s a good look on him. 

“Go to sleep, Cas,” Dean says quietly. 

“Okay,” the other man replies, already mostly there.

Dean reaches down and tugs the blankets back over them. The night air coming in from the open roof is refreshing, but it’s also bracing. 

He lays there a few minutes, staring up into the star-speckled sky, listening to Cas’ soft breathing. It’s a beautiful night.

He won’t think about the fact that he’s leaving in the morning.


	8. Chapter 8

It’s a strange feeling, waking up in someone’s arms. Strange, but pleasant. 

Castiel shifts slightly, burrowing closer to Dean, who gives off the most wonderful heat. He can feel the cool air from the open roof, but he’s well-protected against it. Just as he’s drifting back to sleep, he feels Dean stir beneath him, mumbling something under his breath.

Castiel rolls over, propping himself up on one elbow, and watches as Dean opens his eyes. He smiles softly at the other man, hoping that he won’t see regret on his face.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean murmurs sleepily. He yawns, covering his mouth with one hand. “Time to wake up?”

“Sadly, yes,” Castiel replies. Dean pouts at him, and he amends his previous statement. “Well, soon enough. How are you feeling?”

Dean carefully reaches down, patting at his injured side. “I feel great,” he says. Then, just to prove his point, he quickly rolls over and on top of Castiel, pinning him beneath his body. “Feel better now, though.”

Castiel knows the expression on his face is probably foolish and sappy, but he can’t bring himself to care. He tilts his head up, and Dean leans down to kiss him, and everything feels right. They kiss lazily for a few minutes, and just as Castiel is wondering whether to initiate something more, Dean’s stomach rumbles.

He lets out a soft chuckle, and Dean draws back, grinning down at him. “Whoops,” Dean says. “Guess it’s breakfast time.”

Castiel doesn’t want to get up, doesn’t want to ever leave this bed. Doesn’t want to pull himself away from Dean’s arms, from the comforting weight of the other man above him. He knows that as soon as they get up, there will be no going back. They’re both too disciplined for that, too bound by the rules of their respective positions. 

He sighs and pushes lightly at Dean so they can both get up. Dean has a pensive look on his face as he stands and stretches, one hand resting on his injured side. “I think I’ll be ready to ride today,” he says, and there’s a strange note in his voice, almost pleading-- like he wants Castiel to contradict him, to give him a reason to stay. 

But any reason Castiel can give him would be flimsy at best, and he refuses to submit to the selfish desire that rises in him. He has always known that Dean would leave. He has always known that it would be soon.

But he never expected it to be this hard.

“Let me check,” he says instead, crossing to where Dean stands. He reaches out a hand and places it on Dean’s chest, loving the way he can feel his muscles flexing under his touch. Castiel slowly moves his hand towards the site of Dean’s injury, turning the movement into a caress. He won’t get Dean like this for long, bare-chested and pliant, so he’ll be greedy while he still can. 

“All healed,” he announces. He tears himself away with difficulty and passes Dean one of the shirts they had abandoned on the floor the previous night. “Your uniform is damaged, I fear,” he says, aiming for levity. “You’ll have to ride back to the capital as an ordinary civilian.”

Dean’s face turns serious. “That might be a good thing,” he says. “I’ll draw less attention that way. Fewer...unfriendly eyes, shall we say.”

It’s an unpleasant thought, but Castiel knows that Dean is right. He has a better chance of passing unnoticed by their enemies in plain garb than he would in his eye-catching uniform. “Well, either way, you need to eat first,” he says firmly. 

Dean leads the way down to the kitchen, clearly delighted to be walking without assistance. Castiel is happy for him as well. He’s such a vibrant man, so physically expressive, and it’s good to see him with his full range of motion restored. And not that he’s bragging, but Castiel is also pleased with his own spellwork. Healing magic is not his specialty, but he seems to have done well this time. 

“So, what’s for breakfast?” Dean asks as they reach the kitchen. “I could really go for some bacon.”

Castiel laughs. “I think that can be arranged. Here,” he says, rummaging around and producing a few apples. “Go feed your horse while I get started here.”

“Awesome,” Dean says, leaning in to swiftly kiss Castiel’s cheek before making for the door. “Uh, Cas, you gotta let me out, though.”

“Of course,” Castiel says, whispering the spell to unlock the door. Dean grins at him before exiting, and Castiel makes sure to leave the door open so he can get back in. Then he busies himself making them a hearty breakfast-- porridge, bacon, some oatcakes he cooked over the fire a few days before. 

It’s almost ready by the time Dean comes back, sniffing the air appreciatively. “Smells good,” he says. 

“Have a seat,” Castiel instructs. He serves them both generous helpings, then sits down as well. Dean’s leg brushes against his under the table, and Castiel starts, not expecting the contact.

“Woah, sorry,” Dean says, holding up his hands in apology. “Didn’t realize you spooked so easily.”

Castiel bites his lip. “I’m...unaccustomed to this sort of thing,” he says, unsure of how best to explain it. “This intimacy that seems to come so easily to you.” He likes it, really, the way Dean is so free with his affection, the way he expresses it physically. But he can’t let himself get used to it, not when Dean is about to leave.

“Sorry,” Dean mutters, looking away. The tips of his ears are flushed pink, Castiel notes. It’s incredibly endearing. 

Castiel reaches out across the table to take his hand, and it’s Dean’s turn to be startled. “There’s nothing to apologize for,” Castiel says earnestly. He holds Dean’s gaze for a second to indicate his sincerity, and is gratified when he feels Dean’s leg move against his under the table again, more slowly this time. Castiel adjusts his position as well, and soon their legs are tangled together beneath the table, their hands still clasped on its surface. 

They both eat their breakfast using only one hand, unwilling to let go of each other quite yet.

Once they’ve finished eating, however, a strained silence falls over them. There’s no reason to delay this further. Dean is in good health once more, and duty calls. Quite literally. 

“I, uh,” Dean starts, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I should go, I guess.”

“Yes,” Castiel says, though his mind is screaming _no, no, no_. “I suppose you should.”

Dean stares at him for a second. “I don’t want to,” he says finally, rubbing his thumb over Castiel’s hand. The touch is soothing. “But I have to.”

“I know.” There’s nothing more Castiel can say. It’s all true, what they’ve both said, but that doesn’t change anything. If not for the threat of invasion, Castiel would break all the rules for Dean, he knows it. He would let him come to the Grey Tower whenever he could, he would seek an apprentice before it was time, he would train them rapidly so he could leave sooner. He would do all of it for Dean-- but he can’t. Not with the safety of the kingdom at stake.

“I’ll pack you some provisions for the ride,” he says, finally removing his hand from Dean’s. “You should gather whatever else you need.”

Dean starts to say something, and then stops. “Okay,” he says. He stands up, and climbs up the stairs and out of Castiel’s sight.

Castiel is glad for the moment alone. He needs to compose himself. He takes a deep breath, dropping his head to rest on his hands, folded on the table. 

He doesn’t know what he’ll do once Dean is gone. And not in the dramatic, emotional sense of the phrase. He honestly doesn’t know what his next step will be, what else he can do to help the kingdom. For the past few days Dean has been his mission. And now Dean is leaving, going to the capital to receive his commands from the king himself. He’ll have no trouble finding ways to be useful. But what about Castiel? Will there be anything else for him to do, or will he be stuck here in this tower, watching a war unfold without being able to affect its outcome?

A light touch on his back brings him back to the present. “Hey,” Dean says softly from behind him. “You alright?”

_No, not really_ , Castiel thinks to himself. But he forces a smile onto his face and turns to face Dean. “Yes,” he lies.

Dean frowns at him. “No, you’re not,” he says. “I can tell.”

Of course he can. Of course he can see through Castiel’s facade, even after only knowing him these few days. Castiel lets the smile slip off his face. There’s no sense hiding his distress now.

Dean makes a soft noise and gathers Castiel into his arms. “Hey,” he says. “This sucks, I know. But it’ll be okay.”

Castiel finds that hard to believe. “What will be okay?” he asks bitterly. “This war we can’t even explain? Even if that goes well, Dean, don’t you understand? We’ll never see each other again.”

Maybe that doesn’t mean as much to Dean as it does to Castiel. Maybe Dean doesn’t care, now that he’s fully healed. He can go on with his life, and maybe brag to his friends in the Guard about the time that he met a Watcher. That time he made love with one. 

“Screw that,” Dean says firmly, giving Castiel a little shake. “Look, I’ve already been here once. I’ve seen you do magic. I’ve helped you do magic. If the reason you’re not supposed to let people in here is to protect that magic, well, it’s too late for that with me. So when this is all over, I’m coming back.”

Castiel finds he has nothing to say. He just stares at Dean, awed by his conviction, his single-minded determination.

“Unless,” Dean falters. “Unless you don’t want me to come back.”

“No,” Castiel says quickly. “Dean, no. I can’t let myself hope that it could ever happen...but...nothing would make me happier than to see you again.”

“Okay then,” Dean says, a smile lighting up his face once more. “I’ll come back.”

“I’ll be here,” Castiel says. It’s the truth, but it sounds like a joke, and it makes Dean laugh, which is always a good thing. 

They pack a few things for Dean to bring with him, and then they go outside. Dean adjusts Impala’s saddle, makes sure his sword is secure. He’s stalling now, Castiel can tell. It’s still early morning, but Dean has over a half-day’s ride ahead of him. 

“Dean,” he says, forcing the other man to look at him. “Be safe.”

Dean reaches out and brushes Castiel’s hair off his forehead. Castiel closes his eyes against the pure tenderness in his touch. “I will,” Dean promises. “Cas, thank you. For saving me...for everything.”

“It was my honour,” Castiel replies gravely. “And my pleasure.”

“My pleasure too,” Dean says with a lewd wink, and Castiel is startled into laughter. He’ll miss that irreverence, that mischief. “Is there a way for us to talk, while we’re apart?” Dean asks.

“Not really, other than letters,” Castiel says regretfully. “If you address things to Coldstream, a rider will bring them here. But it’s slow.”

“I don’t care,” Dean says. “It will have to do.”

Castiel doesn’t have much left to tell him. “Farewell, Dean,” he says. He leans over and kisses him, resting his hands on Dean’s hips. Dean kisses him back desperately, like he’s trying to memorize the taste and feel of Castiel’s lips. 

“See you around, Cas,” Dean whispers as he pulls away. He mounts his horse with an impressive leap into the saddle, proving that his wound is in fact completely healed. He looks back at Castiel one last time, and then digs his heels into Impala’s sides, prompting the horse into motion.

Castiel watches him ride away until he can no longer see him. Then he slowly makes his way back into the tower, alone. 

 

***

 

Dean has a long ride ahead of him, and for once, he’s grateful for his current lack of company. It gives him more time with his thoughts. 

He’d put on a brave face for Castiel before leaving, but Dean isn’t as confident as he pretends to be. He still has no idea what to expect-- more simple village raids, a full-scale battle? He never even had to lift his sword in proper combat until a few nights ago. He may be a Captain of the Royal Guard, but he’s an untested one. 

He hopes he can be enough.

Because the other part of what he told Castiel was completely true. He was more honest than he has been in a very long time. He will come back to the Grey Tower, and he will see Castiel again. This thing between them has barely had a chance to get started, but Dean isn’t giving up on it yet. It’s more than simple attraction, more than a passing interest. Dean can feel it in his bones. They just need to get through this crisis, and then they can determine where they stand. 

He stops to rest Impala not far from Fallowfield, and debates making a short stop in the town to check on the people. But he knows he’s needed in the capital. The Guard has probably already established a presence in Fallowfield anyways. Dean isn’t the only Captain. He has to remind himself of that. Sam always says that he has a habit of shouldering too much of a burden, forgetting that there are others to share it with. 

So Dean continues west towards Veridia. And though he’s sad to be riding away from Castiel, he’s also eager to see Benny and Jo and Victor again, to make sure that they’re okay. He wants to hug Sam and Jess. To be comforted by Bobby’s stoic gruffness. There are a lot of people that he cares about in the city, and he needs to be back among them. 

He lightly digs his heels into Impala’s sides and she quickens her pace, happy to be given an excuse to run. It feels good to be back in the saddle. A few more hours, and he’ll be home, though who knows for how long. He may be sent back out on another mission almost immediately. 

“You’re going to be running a lot, girl,” he says to Impala. “Better get used to it.”

The horse makes a noise that sounds enthusiastic, and Dean laughs. He pats her on the neck, and they ride on towards the capital.

It’s mid-afternoon when Dean sees the walls of Veridia on the horizon. Despite the urgency of the situation, he finds himself smiling at the sight. This is his city, his home. He won’t let anything happen to it. 

He rides into the city, and almost immediately, the whispers start to follow him. _Dean Winchester is back_ , the people murmur. He wishes he had time to stop and talk to them, to get a sense of how the city is reacting to the news from the East, but he has to keep moving. He has to report in to Bobby.

He clatters noisily into the Guard’s stables, and several stableboys drop their brushes in surprise when they realize it’s him. Just as he swings down from Impala, there’s a muffled shriek, and something collides with his side.

“Oh, hello to you too,” Dean laughs, stepping back to look at Jo. “Good thing I’m all healed up, otherwise that would have been really painful.”

“What? Oh, crap, sorry,” Jo says, quickly letting go of Dean. “I’m just so glad you’re back.”

“Yeah, me too. Come on, I gotta find Bobby,” Dean says, dropping an arm over Jo’s shoulders as they head into the attached building that houses the Commander’s office.

“I have to ask,” Jo says as they walk. “Were you really at the Grey Tower? No offense, Dean, but that doesn’t sound possible.”

To be fair, if someone had told Dean he would be rescued by a Watcher and healed in his magic tower, he would have a hard time believing it too. “How else would I have been able to talk to you guys like that, huh?”

Jo makes a face. “I guess,” she concedes. “So, what was the Weather Watcher like? Some cranky old guy with a big white beard and flowing robes?”

There were no flowing robes that Dean could recall, though Cas did wear a cloak at one point. He’s about to answer Jo when they reach Bobby’s office, and he’s relieved to have an excuse to drop that topic of conversation. What happened between he and Castiel still feels too private to share even with a friend as close as Jo. 

Jo knocks sharply on the door, and opens it when they hear Bobby’s voice telling them to enter. She throws a salute. “Presenting Captain Winchester, reporting for duty, sir.”

“Hey, Bobby,” Dean says, managing a weak grin. “Good to see you.”

“Good to see you too, boy,” Bobby says, and only someone who knows him as well as Dean does would be able to pick up on the relief and fondness in his voice. “As much as I’d love to stand around catching up, we’ve got important business to talk about.”

Jo and Dean sit down in the chairs in front of Bobby’s desk, and Dean leans forward eagerly. “Any word on what it is we’re up against?”

Bobby sighs and shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says. “Since that weird weather over by Fallowfield yesterday, there’s been no sign of anything wrong. Worried about tonight, though.”

Dean stands up and goes to examine the map of the kingdom pinned to Bobby’s wall. “So, yesterday they tried to attack Fallowfield. The night before that was quiet. Before that, they snuck up on us in the woods. And before that, they hit Coldstream. Considering that I rode from right around there in half a day, does it seem like they’re moving a bit slow to anyone else?”

Jo purses her lips thoughtfully. “Probably not on horseback, then,” she says. “Likely unfamiliar with the area. Not as confident moving towards their destination.”

“Which is more than likely here,” Bobby finishes. “They could be here by now, but we don’t know when they’ll attack. It’s been at night, so far.”

“Except for yesterday,” Dean points out. “They almost got away with using that storm they brewed as cover, but we put a stop to that.”

“ _We_?” Bobby asks.

Dean remembers that Jo and Bobby still don’t know exactly how he spent the past few days. They probably assume he spent the whole time in bed, recuperating. “Uh, yeah, me and Castiel,” he says. 

“Who the hell is Castiel?” Bobby snaps.

“The Weather Watcher,” Dean explains, making an effort to be patient with them. “I was holed up in the Grey Tower, remember?”

“You and the Weather Watcher stopped an attack on Fallowfield?” Jo says skeptically. “Since when do you know how to do magic?”

“I helped, okay? Point is, we can’t rely on them to only attack at night. They’re got strategies in place to deal with that, obviously, and who knows what other kind of magic they could be using.” Dean needs to make it clear to Bobby just how scary their enemy truly is. Just how unpredictable. 

Bobby is quiet, but his hands are tapping away at his desk, and Dean knows him well enough to know that he’s unsettled. “So you don’t know anything more than we do,” he says eventually, looking disappointed.

Dean’s not pleased about the older man’s tone. “I was injured, you know,” he points out. “Not on an information-gathering mission.”

“I’m not blaming you,” Bobby replies. “I just wish we had some more information to bring to the king. Hell, any information at all.”

Jo makes a small noise, reminding them of her presence. “We’re reporting to the king?” she asks.

“Yep,” Bobby says, standing up from behind his desk and straightening his uniform. “I’ve asked for Benny and Victor to join us here, then we’re all going over to the palace together. King Charles wants to see you, Dean, and get your story first-hand.”

Dean swallows nervously. He’s not intimidated by the king-- for a royal, he’s shockingly approachable. It’s the nature of the audience that worries him. Like Bobby, he wishes he had more concrete information to bring forward. 

He drops a comforting hand on Jo’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine,” he tells her. He hopes it’s true.

They leave Bobby’s office and within a few short minutes, they’re joined by Benny and Victor, both in full uniform. Dean abandons any pretense of calm and hugs them both tightly. Victor has a bandage wrapped around his left hand, but seems otherwise unharmed. Benny has no evident injuries, but Dean remembers him being struck by an arrow right as the attack began.

“Benny, how are you feeling?” he asks worriedly. Unlike him, his squad didn’t have an enchanter trained in healing spells to take care of them. 

Benny laughs, soothing Dean’s nerves. “Don’t you worry about me, Captain,” he says. “That little arrow in the back of my arm barely slowed me down.”

Dean nods, but makes a mental note to ask Jess to swing by the barracks as soon as possible to check on Benny and the others. She’s the best healer he knows, or at least the best one who doesn’t have magic to help her out. 

“As touching as this little reunion is, we shouldn’t keep the king waiting,” Bobby says. 

Dean makes a rude gesture at him and receives a smack up the side of his head for his insolence. He fights back a grin. In other kingdoms, a Captain would be demoted, if not dismissed outright, for such rudeness to their commander. But Esporia’s Royal Guard has always operated under the assumption that both love and respect are necessary for it to function, and that mentality has served them well so far.

They make their way to the palace, and they’re immediately greeted by Rufus, the Captain in charge of the protection of the palace. “Good, you’re here,” he says brusquely. “This way.”

He leads them down the opulent hallway, and instead of taking them into the formal audience chamber, he brings them to a small council room instead. He knocks once, and then pushes the doors open.

“Commander Singer, Captain Winchester, and his squad, as requested, Sire,” Rufus announces.

“Thank you for coming,” King Charles says, and Dean notes the tension evident on his face, the weariness in his voice. “Please, sit.”

They take the last five chairs at the round table, and then Rufus salutes and leaves, closing the doors behind him. 

“First, a few introductions,” the king says. “Guards, this is Linda Tran and her son Kevin. Linda has been a councillor for many years, and Kevin is studying at the university.”

There’s a chorus of murmured greetings from around the table. 

“And this,” the king says, indicating the handsome man at his right side, “is Michael, the Military Watcher.”

Dean hears Jo draw in a sharp breath, and Benny lets out a low whistle. None of them have ever met or seen a Watcher before. Even Dean, having spent several days alone in a tower with Castiel, finds Michael rather impressive. He sits comfortably beside the king, his dark clothing stark against his blood-red cloak. 

Before he can stop himself, Dean blurts out, “Shouldn’t you be in the Red Tower?”

Michael raises one dark eyebrow at him, though he looks more amused than offended. “The king determined that I would be more useful here, for the time being,” he says smoothly. “I’ll return to the tower as soon as this meeting is concluded, of course.”

“We’re at war, Captain Winchester,” King Charles reminds him. “The Military Watcher is the most qualified expert we have. This is not the time for him to be shut away in a tower.”

Dean supposes this is true, but considering what Castiel had told him about leaving the tower, he still finds it surprising. Dean is glad to know that the other four Watchers will still be on duty in case anything goes wrong.

“Well, let’s begin,” the king says. “Captain Winchester, what can you and your squad tell us about the enemy? Other than the people of Coldstream, you’re the only ones who have had direct contact with them.”

Dean hesitates before replying, knowing how useless his information will be. “They were big, and quiet,” he says. “They snuck up on us, and we had a difficult time landing any blows.”

“They used a variety of weapons,” Jo volunteers. “Some bows and arrows, some swords, some shorter knives and daggers.”

“We could barely see them,” Victor adds. “Some sort of camouflage on their clothing, maybe?”

“And we thought we were done for until that lightning hit and scared them off,” Benny concludes.

The king looks thoughtful. “Were they even human?” he asks.

Dean and his squad trade uneasy glances. “I’m afraid I just don’t know,” Dean replies. 

“Dean raised a good point earlier,” Bobby speaks up. “They’re moving more slowly than we might expect. We can assume they’re not on horseback, and maybe that they’re unfamiliar with the territory.”

“As one would be, if one were from Infernia,” Michael adds.

Dean gives him a sharp look. They’ve all had the same thought about their enemy’s origins, but Michael sounds certain of it.

King Charles sighs and shakes his head. “I have no desire to blame our neighbours without proof,” he says, sounding like he’s had this conversation several times before. 

“You called me here for my expert opinion,” Michael says. “And, in my expert opinion, it’s the most logical answer. King Crowley has become bored of ruling a desolate land and seeks to invade here. The attacks started in the east, and have been moving westwards. Our mirrors don’t show us Infernia, so we wouldn’t be able to see his soldiers until they were already here. It’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

Dean has to admit, Michael’s argument is convincing. There’s just one thing that’s bothering him-- if the attacks were indeed coming from Infernia, why had Castiel told him that the mirror that displays the Great Falls had been acting strangely in the weeks leading up to the attacks? Shouldn’t it have been one with a view of the mountains instead?

“I’m not questioning your authority on such matters,” Dean says slowly, “but I know that your mirrors did show you something. Castiel’s mirror on the Great Falls-- surely that had something to do with this?”

Most of the others at the table are wearing expressions of blank curiosity, but Michael tilts his head at Dean consideringly, a sly smile playing on his lips. “And what,” he asks, “does a Captain of the Royal Guard know about the mirrors of a Watcher? Or, for that matter, about _Castiel_?”

Dean can practically feel his own face going pale. He’s made a terrible mistake. It was one thing for his fellow Guards to know that he was in the Grey Tower with Castiel. They would think nothing of it. But only now does Dean remember Gabriel’s reaction to him being there, and Castiel’s explanation of the Watcher’s strict code of privacy. 

He may have just gotten Castiel into a great deal of trouble with his thoughtlessness. 

Michael is still staring at Dean, a strange combination of interest and displeasure on his face. Obviously sensing that Dean is unable to answer, Bobby speaks up on his behalf. “The Captain was injured during the attack a few nights ago, and was granted refuge at the Grey Tower, as I understand it.”

Dean nods tightly. “And as to the specifics of that, we can discuss those at another time,” he says. His voice only trembles slightly. “For now, I suggest we keep to the matter at hand.”

“Very well,” Michael says, his tone neutral. “As to your question, perhaps the Great Falls will be involved in the attack somehow. We know that the enemy has used weather magic to attempt to cover the sun with cloud before attacking Fallowfield. They may try an enchantment on the Falls, a flood or some other disaster. I’ll make sure that Castiel--” he stresses the name, looking directly at Dean as he does, “is particularly vigilant in his observations.”

Dean holds his gaze, refusing to be intimidated. He may have made a mistake in admitting his acquaintance with Castiel, but he won’t be ashamed of it now.

The king abruptly pushes his ornate chair back from the table and stands, pacing tightly back and forth. “I do not wish to declare war,” he says.

“War may already have been declared,” Bobby answers. “How do we proceed, sire?”

“I will travel to Infernia,” Linda speaks up for the first time. “My son will join me. We will assess the current situation there, request an audience with the king, and report back to you, Your Majesty.”

“If they’re behind the attacks, is it really a good idea to journey there?” Jo asks skeptically.

Linda smiles sharply at her. “King Crowley is bound by the laws of custom, which grant safe passage to ambassadors,” she says. “And I know how to protect myself, should he decide to break those laws.”

Dean is impressed with her speech. She’s a small woman, but she’s certainly fierce. Kevin has kept quiet to this point, but there’s strength in his gaze as well, despite his youth. Dean thinks their plan may be their best option.

“You should at least take a few of the guards with you, as extra protection,” the king says. Dean can tell that he isn’t pleased with this plan, but he’s coming around.

“We can’t do that, sire,” Benny points out gently. “If we enter Infernia, it will be taken as an act of aggression, and the safeguards extended to ambassadors will be void. They have to go alone.”

“Of course,” King Charles says with a weary sigh. “Silly of me to forget that.”

Dean’s worried about him. He trades an anxious look with Bobby, who has also noticed the king’s distress. Not that Dean can blame him. King Charles is accustomed to a happy kingdom and a peaceful reign. He’s never had to deal with this kind of situation before. 

“So,” Michael says. “Perhaps the Guard can accompany Linda and Kevin to the border, at least? If the enemy is already here, this may be the most dangerous part of their journey.”

Dean scowls at him across the table, irritated that he didn’t think of that first. “I’ll take them,” he says. “With your permission, sire.”

King Charles hesitates, then shakes his head. “You just got back, Captain Winchester. I’d rather have you and your squad here. Commander Singer, please dispatch another unit to accompany our ambassadors as far as the Infernian border. They will make camp there and await their return, then escort them safely back to the capital to make their report.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Bobby says. “With your permission, I’ll do so now.”

The king nods, dismissing him, and Bobby leaves the room. Dean looks at his squad, who all are looking to him for direction now. He clears his throat. “Any further orders for us, sire?” he asks.

“Not at the present,” the king replies. “Dismissed.”

Dean offers a sharp salute and lets the others out of the room before him. He looks back to see Michael staring at him, and he offers him a salute as well, though this one is far less sincere. Michael tips his head in acknowledgement, and then Dean is out the door.

“That went well,” Victor mutters as they head back down the corridor. 

Dean shrugs. “At least we’re doing something,” he says. “Well, not us specifically. But the kingdom.”

“I get the feeling this is just the beginning,” Benny says, and there’s a note of worry in his voice. Dean doesn’t like it-- Benny is one of the most unflappable people that he knows, and if he’s worried, then the situation must be dire.

“We wait for our orders,” Dean says firmly. He’s in charge of them now, he reminds himself. It’s his duty not just to lead them, but to support them. “We’re doing what we can. That’s the only thing we can do.”

Jo nods. “We trust you, Captain,” she says, and Dean’s warmed by her support. Benny and Victor nod as well, and they pass quietly through the palace doors and back into the sunshine.

Dean spares a thought for Castiel, hoping that he didn’t do any irreparable damage by admitting their connection in front of Michael. He wishes he could send him some sort of warning, but a traditional letter would take too long to arrive. Dean sighs and continues walking. What’s done is done. 

He has to focus on the here and now. Castiel is already in his past, and hopefully in his future, but at the moment, Dean has other, more immediate concerns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say a quick thank-you to everyone who's following this story so far! It's a long one and I really appreciate your support.


	9. Chapter 9

It’s been three days since Dean left. Castiel hasn’t stopped missing him since.

Which is entirely ridiculous, really, or so he tries to tell himself. He’d only known the man for about that long before he rode back to the capital. Surely three days isn’t enough time to develop the kind of emotional bond that currently tugs at Castiel’s heart.

It doesn’t help that the past few days have been quiet. No mirrors going off in warning, no villages under attack, no signs of magical interference. The constant stop-and-start of this strange conflict the kingdom has become embroiled in is becoming more and more frustrating to Castiel. 

So the sudden ringing of his perimeter spell is a welcome distraction, even if likely bodes ill for him.

He lets out a startled curse and hurries to perform the spell that will allow him to see just what is coming towards him. His hands tremble slightly with nerves as the largest mirror begins to glow, a shadowy image forming in its surface. 

But instead of warriors from Infernia or some terrible monster, Castiel sees a young woman, riding alone, bearing a white flag.

He frowns and watches as she continues to ride towards the Grey Tower. She appears young, perhaps a few years younger than him, and there’s something reassuring about her easy posture in the saddle, the plainness of her clothing. He can’t tell what she wants, however, and this is not the time to be caught off his guard. 

So he watches, and waits. He’ll have a better idea how to respond once she reaches the tower and declares her true intentions.

It’s less than ten minutes before she arrives at the foot of the tower. She dismounts easily, waving the white flag several times as though trying to get his attention. He’s watching her from a window now rather than through the mirror. It’s easier this way. 

“Hail to the Weather Watcher of Esporia,” she calls out, her voice strong and clear. “Greetings from the village of Coldstream.”

This makes a certain amount of sense. Perhaps the people of Coldstream are feeling just as nervous about the strange quiet that has settled over the kingdom, and have come to him for reassurance. Castiel observes her for a few moments more. She waits patiently, and he sees little chance of her attempting to do him harm. Nevertheless, he opens a small chest that he keeps beneath the table and withdraws a small silver dagger, tucking it into the waistband of his trousers. Better to be prepared.

He descends the staircase and whispers the incantation to unlock the door to the tower. He steps outside, blinking in the sunlight, and hears the visitor’s sharp inhale.

“Thank you for receiving me, sir,” she says, dropping into a surprisingly formal curtsy for a village girl. “I am Muriel. I have been asked by the village council to come seeking your aid.”

Castiel is unused to this sort of treatment, and it makes him somewhat uncomfortable. “Please, no need to call me sir,” he says awkwardly. “Castiel will do.”

“As you wish,” Muriel says eagerly. 

There’s a slight pause. From what he can remember of his early upbringing, the way his parents would interact with others in their home village, this would be the correct point in the conversation to invite his guest inside, offer her a cup of tea. However, Castiel can’t exactly invite a stranger into the Grey Tower, no matter how harmless she may seem. He broke the rules for Dean because he believed he would die if he didn’t. But as Muriel’s life does not appear to be in imminent danger, they will continue this meeting where they stand.

To her credit, Muriel does not seem upset or offended at Castiel’s lack of courtesy. Perhaps she attributes it to the eccentricities of a Watcher. 

“You said you sought my aid,” Castiel prompts her.

“Yes,” Muriel says, quickly refocusing on the matter at hand. “It’s been nearly a week since the attack on our village. We’ve cleaned and sorted and repaired what we can in that time. But--” she trails off, and a pained expression enters her eyes. “A great deal of damage was done to many of our homes and barns. We’ve cleared the debris as best we can, and we plan to burn it all today. We implore you to send a wind once we’ve finished. The smell of the smoke will do nothing but prompt bad memories.”

Castiel’s heart aches for the people of Coldstream. They were attacked, completely without provocation, and while they were fortunate enough not to have lost any of their people, they will never be quite the same. The peace of the kingdom has been broken, its tranquility shattered. 

He nods. “Of course I will,” he says firmly. “I will keep a watch on your fires, and I will send the wind as they begin to die down. I will not let their scent linger to cause you further pain.”

“Oh, thank you, sir!” Muriel exclaims, her face brightening once more. Castiel sighs, but he won’t correct her again. Not if it will wipe that smile from her face.

“You are most welcome,” he tells her instead. “Is there anything else I can do to assist you and your village?”

She considers this for a minute, tilting her head to one side while she thinks it through. “I don’t believe so,” she says almost apologetically. “That was the only request I was instructed to bring forward. I will tell the council of your generosity, however.”

“If you must.” Better to be known as generous than as cantankerous or dangerous, Castiel supposes.

Muriel climbs back onto her horse. “Farewell, sir,” she says, still with that bright smile fixed upon her face. “I thank you on behalf of all the people of Coldstream.”

“Farewell, Muriel,” Castiel replies, giving her a genuine smile. It’s difficult to remain aloof in face of her cheer. “Please send my respects to the village council.”

“I shall,” she says, and with a final wave she turns her horse around and begins her ride home. 

Castiel watches as she fades into the distance, thinking how strange it is to be standing here watching as someone leaves for the second time in just a few days. It’s more direct human contact than he’s had in a long time. But what Dean and Muriel have both proven to him is just how much good there is to be found among the people of Esporia. 

They do not deserve to be threatened, and so Castiel will do what he can to help them.

He’s quite pleased about the favour that Muriel has asked of him. A simple wind spell is fairly straightforward for him. It’s a common spell, one he’s performed many times before, but it will feel particularly important today. He wanted to go to Coldstream to help them immediately after the attack, but was unable to leave his tower at the time. So to be given a task that benefits them and can be accomplished from within the tower is an unexpected bright spot in his day. 

He catches himself humming as he brings up a view of Coldstream’s main square in its corresponding mirror. Strange, that his mood can be so easily affected just by being granted this simple task. 

He sees many of the villagers bringing piles of wood into the square, though others are simply burning their debris directly outside their own homes. One elderly couple brings forward what looks like a hand-carved headboard, probably from their own bed, and Castiel can see tears glimmering in their eyes as it goes up in flames.

He reaches out a hand towards the mirror, then pulls back. He can see them, but he cannot offer them comfort. Not yet. This is their time to grieve, to reflect, and then it will be his time to act, to blow away the smell of fire so that they can move forward. 

For now, though, he will sit with them as they burn the wreckage from that night. They may not be aware of it, but he will watch over them in solidarity nevertheless. 

As the hours pass, the fires begin to dwindle, and Castiel knows it’s time to begin the spell. He gathers the necessary ingredients: the discarded feathers of a dove, crushed lavender, a few drops of rainwater. He mixes them together, then holds the bowl above him as he recites the spell. He visualizes the streets of Coldstream as he does, sending the wind blowing from one end of the village to the other. It’s a steady breeze, not so strong that it will cause any damage or discomfort, but just enough to clear the smoke and the smell. 

Once the wind has started, the spell becomes more physical than verbal. Keeping his eyes on the mirror, Castiel moves his hands and arms in a series of precise movements, flicking his fingers outward to direct the movement of the wind, pulling his hands back to his chest to soften it slightly. 

He controls the wind for several minutes, and just as he’s starting to think that the air ought to be clear, a familiar figure makes its way into the square. It’s Muriel, once again carrying the white flag she brought to the tower earlier in the day. She smiles and curtsies again, then waves the flag back and forth three times.

It’s fairly simple to interpret her gesture: the smoke from the fires has cleared, and the smell of their burnt homes has dissipated. Castiel brings his hands close to his chest and claps them firmly two times, ending the spell. 

Muriel waves, and though he knows she can’t see him, Castiel waves back. He doesn’t even feel foolish about it. He’s too happy about what they’ve just accomplished.

He watches for a few more minutes, until Muriel disappears into a house just off the square. Then he turns off the mirror and clears away the ingredients he used for the spell. He prefers to keep his workspace as tidy as possible, another lesson that Anna taught him from a very young age. If he left bits of things hanging about, they could end up in another mixture and dramatically affect the result of the enchantment. 

Night is fast approaching, and Castiel realizes that he’s rather hungry. He stands up with some reluctance and makes his way down the stairs perhaps slightly more slowly than usual. When he reaches the kitchen, he’s pleased to remember that he still has some soup left from the night before, so he won’t have to spend any time or energy preparing something new. 

He heats the soup over the fire, and when it’s warm, he pours it all into a slightly-chipped stone bowl and sits down at the table to eat. He catches himself glancing across the table several times, his eyes always straying to that empty chair as if he expects Dean to suddenly appear there, warm and smiling and affectionate. 

He thinks Dean would be proud of him for what he did today. It’s more like the work Dean does as part of the Royal Guard, something that directly affects the well-being of the people, something they participate in as well. Something done at their direct request, not just because the mirrors suggested there was something that needed his interference. 

Of course, Dean would have gone right to Coldstream to help them. He would have been among them, piling the wood, offering them the comfort that Castiel was unable to from the tower. But Castiel is still pleased with his efforts for the day. He feels a deep sense of satisfaction with his use of magic that he hopes to feel more frequently in the future. 

He finishes his soup and rinses out his bowl. He feels better now that he’s eaten, but he’s still tired from working the wind spell. He climbs back up to the workroom and performs his nightly routine, ensuring that all of the mirrors are working properly. He debates contacting Balthazar or Gabriel just to tell them about his day, but then he is lost to a massive yawn, and decides it can wait until the morning. 

Satisfied that all is well, Castiel climbs up to his bedchamber and removes his shirt and trousers, then pulls on his sleep pants and practically falls into bed. The sheets are smooth beneath him, and it feels wonderful to lay his heavy head down on the soft feather pillow. 

Within minutes, he’s fast asleep.

He sleeps soundly for hours. Especially after working a spell, his body requires a good deal of rest to replenish its energy. So Castiel is surprised when he wakes up and it’s still dark. Normally he would sleep right through until morning, even if he did go to bed a bit earlier than usual.

He has the distinct feeling that something is wrong.

He lights the large candle on his table with the matches that he finds by touch. He won’t waste magic on such a simple task, especially when he’s all too aware that he hasn’t gotten enough sleep to fully recharge. He looks around the room, but there’s no evidence of anything out of the ordinary other than the strange prickling sensation on the back of his neck.

Castiel is a Watcher, but he is unaccustomed to feeling like he is the one being watched.

In the silence of the night, all he can hear is his own breathing, and underneath it, the rapid beating of his heart. And then...Castiel strains his ears, and he thinks he hears something else, coming from the windows. A rhythmic tapping, a slight scraping against stone.

As though someone--or something--is climbing up the side of the tower.

_Impossible_ , Castiel thinks to himself even as he backs away from the windows. The walls of the tower are smooth, solid stone. Who would even attempt such a thing? And how could they have gotten past his perimeter spell? He knows it’s working, it alerted him to Muriel’s presence earlier in the day. 

The noise from the window grows louder, and Castiel is forced to accept that something is almost definitely about to enter his chamber. He swallows deeply. Any intensive spells cannot be cast without time-consuming preparation, and he highly doubts that the intruder will wait while he mixes his herbs for a defensive enchantment. 

Then Castiel remembers the dagger he had slipped into his trousers before going to meet Muriel. He scrambles about on the floor and finds out, clutching it tightly in one hand. He has no practical experience in hand-to-hand combat, but he refuses to die without a fight. 

The scraping noise intensifies, and a dark shape fills the window. It pulls itself into the chamber, and as it straightens, Castiel reacts without thinking, throwing the dagger directly at its chest. 

The dagger glances off and falls to the ground, useless.

Castiel swears under his breath. His throw was in vain, and now he has no weapon. At least not in this room. So he does the next sensible thing.

He runs.

He slams the door shut behind him and races down the stairs to the workroom, snapping his fingers frantically so that the light globes hanging from the ceiling all activate at once. He closes that door as well, though he suspects that someone determined enough to scale his tower will not let mere doors stop them. He finds two more daggers in the chest, and vows not to toss them away so carelessly this time.

He hears a splintering noise from upstairs and knows that the intruder has broken through the door. He stands, tense, facing the doorway, waiting for the next crash.

Mere seconds later, he hears a heavy thump on the stairs, and the heavy wooden door is knocked down with a single blow. 

A huge figure lumbers into the room, and Castiel’s jaw drops. It’s evidently not human, more than six feet tall and as wide as two men. In the brighter light, its skin is a strange muddy brown, and it wears only a ragged pair of trousers cut off below the knee. 

It also carries a heavy sword in one hand, swinging it as though it weighs nothing.

Castiel gulps and switches the daggers to his left hand, then uses the right to summon a small ball of fire and sends it towards the creature. It has no impact on it whatsoever. Castiel curses and backs away. His mind is racing. How can he cause damage to something that is unaffected by fire, and whose skin is so thick it cannot be pierced by weapons?

There’s a thought rising in his mind. When he looks at the creature, it looks like something formed of earth, roughly moulded into the semblance of a person. Its skin is thick, yes, but if it is indeed made of hardened earth...it will crack. 

Castiel glances behind himself at the open window. If he can lure it this way, and then duck in time, he may be able to escape. For all its obvious strength, the creature is not particularly quick. Castiel may not be a fighter, but he is nimble. This may be his best plan.

Unfortunately, the best way to lure the creature towards the window is to stand directly in front of it and wait for it to come to him. Castiel’s whole body trembles as he watches it approach. It lifts its sword menacingly as it draws near.

Castiel judges the distance between them carefully, and when the creature begins to bring its arm down for the killing stroke, he twists rapidly away, dodging the blow. The creature grunts, the first noise it has made, and slowly turns to face him. Its back is to the window now. Good. 

It raises the sword again, and this time, as Castiel spins away from the blade, he reaches out with both hands and shoves it with all his strength. It feels like rock under his hand, but it staggers back. Surprised, it tries to turn on him again, but Castiel ducks and pushes at its knees, causing them to buckle. It falls back, but as its torso passes through the window, the sword catches him across the thigh.

Castiel hisses in pain, but he keeps himself together. He shoves at the thing one more time, and in this case, its great weight works against it. It over-balances and plummets from the window to the ground below. There’s a great clatter as it hits the earth.

Castiel leans wearily against the window frame. He summons just enough fire to see by, and peers out the window to see the creature shattered into pieces at the base of the tower. Just as he suspected, it could not remain intact after such a fall.

He slumps to the ground, exhausted. The wound in his thigh is still bleeding, and he presses his hand over it, wincing at the pain. It isn’t deep, fortunately, but he ought to treat it anyways. He tries to stand, and finds that he cannot.

So he stays seated, still trying to catch his breath. He presses down on the gash in his thigh, hoping to slow the bleeding. He’ll make another another attempt to stand in a few minutes, once he’s recovered from the shock of it all. The attack happened so quickly, and then it was over so fast. If it weren’t for the mess of the tower and the injury to his leg, he’d almost think it was a dream.

As Castiel waits to regain some semblance of normalcy, he’s struck by a sudden thought-- at least now they have a better idea of what they’re fighting against.

***

Dean hasn’t been sleeping well in the few days since he’s returned to Veridia, and he’s not quite sure what to blame it on. His new house, with its unfamiliar bed? The nervousness that has settled over the city like an uncomfortable blanket? Or perhaps the fact that every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is Castiel’s face?

He spends his days training with the rest of the Guard. The number of guards posted to the palace and the city gates has doubled, and those who are not on duty are usually found at the barracks, going through exercises on the training ground. Dean and the other Captains have been working their squads hard while trying to maintain a positive attitude. Frankly, it’s exhausting, and Dean really wishes he was able to get more sleep, because the lack of it is making his days even harder. 

He’s been granted this morning off, at least. Bobby knows that they need some time away from their duties, otherwise they’re likely to go completely mad from the tension. Dean is planning to use his time to have a nice long visit with Sam, who he hasn’t even seen since he’s been back.

He walks through the city, struck by how quiet the streets are. Normally there would be people bustling about, greeting each other as they passed, but today, there are few others outside, and those who do pass by remain silent. A few offer respectful nods as Dean strides past them, but no one smiles, no one calls out a friendly hello. It’s a far cry from the Veridia that Dean knows and loves.

He reaches his old house, and knocks lightly on the door. Normally he would enter unannounced, but with the city as tense as it is, that seems unwise. 

The door opens a few seconds later, and before Dean can even begin to greet his brother, Sam pulls him inside and into a tight hug. Dean wraps his arms around him, then thumps him lightly on the back and pulls away.

“Hi, Sam,” he says roughly. “Good to see you.”

“Yeah, you too,” Sam says. “We were so worried when the rest of your squad got back and said you’d been injured. You seem fine, though.” Sam prods Dean in the chest as though checking that he’s all in one piece.

“I am fine,” Dean replies, and just to reassure him, he pulls up his tunic and shows Sam where he was wounded. It’s fully healed, and on its way to becoming a scar. 

Sam lets out a low whistle. “Well, that certainly helps to prove you weren’t lying about meeting a Watcher,” he says, dropping into a chair and gesturing for Dean to do the same. “What were they like?”

“Uh,” Dean starts, then pauses. How can he possibly describe Castiel? “Not as old as I imagined. A bit awkward, but I mean, the guy’s been stuck in a tower for years, so that’s to be expected.”

Sam has an eager expression on his face. “I would love to see inside one of the Watchtowers,” he says wistfully.

“Yeah, it was pretty cool,” Dean admits. “So many books. And the m--” he cuts himself off before he tells Sam too much. He’s already let it slip to Michael that he was in the Grey Tower, and he doesn’t want to provide Sam with too many details and somehow get Castiel into even more trouble. 

“What?” Sam asks. “What were you going to say?” Of course he wants to know everything, that scholar’s curiosity burning through him.

“I can’t really say,” Dean tells him regretfully. “I guess they’re pretty strict about not letting people into the Towers, and I wasn’t even supposed to be there really, but Cas, well, he said he couldn’t just leave me to die in the woods, so…” he trails off.

“Cas?” Sam asks sharply. “The Weather Watcher is named Cas? I was expecting something more grandiose, somehow.”

Dean snorts. “Castiel, technically.”

A strange expression crosses Sam’s face, and then he starts to grin. 

“What,” Dean says flatly. He knows that grin. It’s the one Sam wears when he’s about to tease him mercilessly about something.

“Castiel,” Sam repeats. “The way you said his name, there, I’m starting to think you like the guy or something.”

Dean scowls at him, but when he doesn’t immediately disagree, Sam’s expression turns positively gleeful. “You do like him!” he says triumphantly. “Oh, that’s perfect, Dean. Leave it to you to develop a crush on one of the most powerful and mysterious people in the kingdom.”

Dean is pretty sure that what he feels for Castiel is way more than a crush, and that’s the problem. A mere infatuation, or a purely physical attraction, he could deal with. But their connection is stronger than that, and that’s what makes the situation so difficult. 

Dean sighs. “It’s not a crush, Sammy,” he says, looking away. 

“Oh,” Sam says, his eyes widening. “You really do like him. And he--?”

“Yeah,” Dean replies. “But, you know, I had to leave. Wasn’t even supposed to be there in the first place, and then there’s this whole situation with the attacks, and he’s basically stuck in that tower, and I don’t know what to do.” His voice cracks slightly at the end of his sentence.

Sam pushes his hair back behind his ears. “He can’t stay there forever, right?” he points out reasonably. “I get that it’s complicated, but Dean, I’m really happy for you. It’s been a long time since, well, you know.”

And Dean does know. Sure, he has his nights of fun here and there, but it has been a long time since it’s been anything more than that. He’s devoted most of his adult life to the Guard, leaving little room for romantic attachments. 

“Well, first we’ve gotta live through this mess,” he says glumly. “I swear, Sam, it was like walking through a different city on the way over here.”

“I know,” Sam agrees, turning somber. “It’s been a strange week, ever since that attack on Coldstream.”

Dean can hardly believe that it’s only been a week. “Not exactly the most auspicious start to a marriage, huh,” he says. He wishes things could have been more joyful for Sam and Jess as they started their new life together.

Sam shrugs. “Maybe not, but we know what we mean to each other,” he says, a soft smile on his lips. “Jess and I talked about it, and we’re both glad we got married before all this started happening. It wouldn’t have felt right to do it now, not when we’re both needed elsewhere.”

“I’m guessing she’s at the healing centre now?” Dean asks.

Sam nods. “She’s been there a lot, helping train new volunteers,” he says, his pride evident in his voice. “They want to make sure as many people as possible have at least a basic knowledge of medicine, how to properly wrap bandages, et cetera. Just in case.”

It’s a good plan. Despite the difficult circumstances, it’s heartening to see the way the people of the kingdom are making their own plans and preparations for whatever darkness is coming their way. Esporians may be accustomed to peace, but evidently, they’re not willing to simply accept defeat at the first signs of trouble. 

“How about you, how are you holding up?” Dean asks his brother. Law may not be directly relevant to the looming war, but Sam works with many of the kingdom’s administrators, and surely the mood there is dark as well. 

“I’m okay,” Sam says. At Dean’s skeptical look, he laughs. “Really. I would have liked to be doing something more active-- maybe going with Linda Tran into Infernia, for example.”

“As if I would ever let you,” Dean scoffs. His brother, on a diplomatic mission? Sure, Sam would be great at it, could probably dazzle King Crowley with his verbal skills and charm information out of his courtiers with those damn puppy-dog eyes. But there is no way Dean would ever agree to him making the dangerous journey, even with the protection granted to ambassadors.

Sam rolls his eyes. “Whatever, Dean. It didn’t come to that, anyways. I just want you and Jess to be safe. If anything does happen, you’ll both be more heavily involved than I will, most likely.”

Sam has a point. Dean has already been injured once, and war hasn’t even officially been declared. He might have died if not for Castiel’s interference. If he’s injured again, he may not be so lucky this time around. 

“We’ll be fine,” Dean says, his voice thick with emotion. “All of us. We’ll be fine. I promise.”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “I know. You’re pretty handy with that sword of yours.”

Dean laughs, and the serious moment passes. He and Sam spend another hour discussing lighter matters, and soon enough Dean has to return to the barracks for his afternoon training.

“See you soon, Sammy,” he says as he leaves, reaching up to ruffle his brother’s hair.

As predicted, it brings the usual scowl to Sam’s face. “Bye, Dean,” Sam says. “I’ll say hi to Jess from you.”

“Thanks.” With a last wave, Dean leaves his old house and makes his way back through the city to the barracks.

He’s running through possible training exercises in his mind as he walks, debating whether it’s worth spending the afternoon working on archery skills, when he sees someone hurrying towards him, coming from the direction of the Guard headquarters. Dean increases his pace, and as he draws closer, he recognizes one of the stableboys, the one who always gives Impala an extra treat.

“Captain Winchester,” the boy says breathlessly when he reaches him, “your presence has been requested in Commander Singer’s office.”

“Shit,” Dean says under his breath. The boy clearly overhears him, because his eyes widen in surprise, probably shocked to hear one of his idols cursing. Dean breaks into a jog, leaving the stableboy behind him with a shouted thank-you. There’s no way Bobby could be looking for him to deliver good news.

He hurries into headquarters and makes for Bobby’s office, wishing he had his squad with him for support. It feels strange receiving urgent news without them.

He approaches Bobby’s office and knocks hesitantly. “Come in,” Bobby says, his voice muffled by the wooden door between them. 

Dean pushes the door open and enters the room. There’s someone sitting in front of the desk, and as Dean approaches, they turn around to greet him.

It’s Michael, and Dean freezes where he stands. This gets worse and worse. If Michael is here, something truly awful must have happened. His distress must show on his face, because Bobby holds up a hand.

“Stop whatever terrible thing you’re thinking,” he says. “Nothing happened.”

Dean lets out a sigh of relief and drops into the the other chair, trying not to be too obvious as he tilts himself away from Michael. “Glad to hear it, but what am I doing here, then?”

Bobby starts to reply, but Michael cuts him off. “I asked to see you, actually,” he says. His tone is pleasant, but it doesn’t relieve Dean’s anxiety. 

Dean just stares at him, unsure how to respond. Bobby takes advantage of the loaded silence to stand up, his chair scraping noisily against the floor. “I’ll give you two some privacy,” he says, clapping a comforting hand on Dean’s back as he passes him. 

Dean wants to beg him to stay, but it’s too late. Bobby shuts the door behind him, and Dean is left alone with the Military Watcher.

“So, Dean,” Michael says, and though he still sounds friendly enough, Dean really doesn’t like the way the other man says his name. “I was hoping we could talk.”

“Sure,” Dean says carefully, keeping his tone neutral. “About anything in particular?”

Michael smiles at him then, and the pretense of friendliness disappears. It’s a sharp smile, more of a threat than anything else. “About Castiel.”

Dean tightens his grip on the arms of his chair. “Oh,” he says, swallowing nervously. Why did he have to mention Cas at that other meeting? He knew how important it was that his presence in the Grey Tower remained a secret from the other Watchers. “Cas didn’t do anything wrong,” he says stubbornly.

“Cas, is it?” Michael asks, arching one dark eyebrow. “I see you two became...close, while you were there.”

It’s fairly obvious what Michael is implying, and Dean flushes, but he keeps his head high. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” he says.

“Perhaps not,” Michael agrees, “but other things that may have passed between you and Castiel certainly are my business. Since he appears to have been so forthcoming with you, maybe you already know that I am the head of the order of Watchers.”

Dean doesn’t really care about the hierarchy of the Watchers. Michael is kind of a dick, and Castiel is awesome, so Dean knows which one of them he prefers. “Sure,” he says.

“He never should have brought you into the tower,” Michael states bluntly.

“What, he should have left me to bleed out in the woods? Doesn’t seem like that’s really in line with your policy of helping the kingdom,” Dean fires back. 

Michael sighs, as though he’s disappointed that Dean can’t see why he should have been left for dead. “We’re tasked with protecting the kingdom, yes,” he explains. “But granting you access to the tower was a mistake on Castiel’s part. And now I have to determine just how much you learned while you were there. That’s what protecting the kingdom means-- protecting it from an untrained civilian attempting to do magic because he saw someone else do it once, or read a few pages of a book.”

“I’m hardly a civilian,” Dean points out, gesturing to his uniform. “And I don’t have any intention of trying to become an enchanter, I swear.”

“I’d like to believe you, Dean, truly,” Michael replies, “but I have to be cautious. This is already a difficult time.”

“So maybe we should have this conversation later then,” Dean suggests. By later, he means never, of course. 

Michael shakes his head slowly. “You’ve got spirit, I’ll give you that,” he says. “And you’re not mine to handle. Technically, you did nothing wrong. As long as you don’t start accumulating ingredients for spells, we shouldn’t have a problem. I just need you to understand that if you do attempt something like that, I will be forced to intervene.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly,” Dean says. Michael’s arrogance is really beginning to bother him. Dean isn’t anyone’s to handle, let alone Michael’s. 

“Good,” Michael says, standing up abruptly. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing plenty more of each other in the coming days, Dean.”

Dean rises to his feet as well. “What are you going to do with Cas?” he asks. Might as well be direct about it, at this point.

Michael turns back, his hand on the doorknob. “Castiel? Well, he’ll have to be taught a lesson, of course. We have rules for a reason.”

Dean can feel his face go pale, and Michael must notice, because he laughs, though there’s no humour in it. 

“Don’t be so quick to assume the worst of me,” Michael says. It sounds like he’s trying to be reassuring. “I’m not going to have him flogged or anything of the sort. What kind of wretch do you think I am? No, I’ll just have to have a stern talk with him.”

Dean is relieved that his carelessness won’t have a lasting impact on Castiel’s position as a Watcher, but he refuses to let Michael see his emotions. Instead he offers a formal salute, keeping it crisp and correct. 

“Goodbye, Dean,” Michael says. He leaves the room, and Dean immediately slumps back down into the chair, dropping his head onto the desk with a groan. He really hopes he hasn’t made things worse for Castiel with his attitude. He could have played nice, been more apologetic or meek, but Michael pissed him off right from the beginning and continued to do so through their entire talk.

If the Watcher’s rules truly matter more than saving a person’s life, well then, Dean is quite content to break them, because they’re stupid rules, in his opinion. Obviously, Castiel agrees with him as well, or he wouldn’t have come looking for Dean that night in the woods. Maybe their meeting went against the rules of the Watchers, but Dean can’t bring himself to be sorry about it.

He’s going to live through this war, and he’s going to go back to that tower, back to Castiel, and Michael is just going to have to deal with it.


	10. Chapter 10

It’s been awhile since Castiel was awake early enough to watch the sun rise. He does so now, still sitting on his workroom floor, his face tilted towards the window. It’s quite beautiful, and despite the circumstances that led to this moment, he feels at peace.

Unfortunately, the moment cannot last forever. He hesitantly braces one hand on the wall behind him and gets to his feet. It sends a spark of pain racing through his injured leg, but he remains upright. Good. Now-- what to do first?

He knows he should contact the other Watchers as soon as possible. It’s not until then that the thought strikes him-- what if he was not the only one attacked during the night?

All thoughts of his own health pushed aside for the moment, he hurries to the four mirrors that connect him to his fellow Watchers and activates them all as quickly as possible. They all begin to glow, and unsurprisingly, Hannah is the first to answer. 

“Castiel?” she asks, clearly confused. “It’s very early. What’s going on?”

Castiel breathes a sigh of relief. She appears to be unharmed, and if her confusion is any indication, no attempt was made on her life the previous night. Just as he’s about to answer her, Balthazar appears in his mirror.

“Castiel, you do know some of us like to sleep in…” he trails off as he realizes Hannah is linked to their conversation as well. “Oh, dear. This can’t be good.”

“No,” Castiel says. Balthazar also seems fine. 

“Give me a minute, I’m not wearing any pants,” Gabriel announces as he comes into view. “Alright, I’m decent now. Or as decent as I’ll ever be. What’s the occasion?”

So three of the other four are all perfectly fine. Castiel isn’t quite sure what to make of that. And Michael’s mirror still remains worryingly dark. He waits a few more seconds, but then decides to begin his explanation without the Military Watcher.

“The tower was attacked last night,” he says, figuring he may as well be direct about it. 

“Are you alright?” Hannah demands. “Castiel, are you hurt?”

He waves off her concern. “A small sword wound to the thigh, I should be able to heal it myself without trouble.”

“How did they get past your perimeter spell? And the spell on the tower door?” Balthazar asks.

Castiel runs his hands through his hair in frustration. “I don’t know,” he admits. “And it wasn’t a they, it was an it. It climbed up the side of the tower and entered my bedchamber through the window.”

“It?” Gabriel repeats. “What do you mean, it?”

“I don’t quite know how to describe it. I’ve never seen anything like it. It had the form of a man, but larger. My dagger was useless, fire had no effect on it. Its skin seemed to be made of hardened earth or clay.”

There’s an uneasy silence as the other process this information. Castiel waits patiently. He knows he would have a similar reaction if one of them brought forward such news. 

“But...how did you escape, then?” Hannah says tentatively. “Not that I doubt your skill, Castiel, but the more we know about how to defeat these things, the better. Because surely, this isn’t the only one of them out there.”

This is precisely what Castiel has been wondering. The others were not attacked at the same time as him, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that they won’t be targeted in the future. Perhaps his proximity to the border with Infernia was the reason the enemy struck at him first, just as they struck at Coldstream. 

“I pushed it out the window,” he answers Hannah flatly. “It shattered when it hit the ground.”

Gabriel whistles. “Quick thinking,” he says admiringly.

“Well, it was either that or be murdered in my own tower, and I wasn’t so keen on the latter,” Castiel says waspishly. He knows they mean well, but he’s still feeling out of sorts after the whole experience, and more than anything he wants to put a healing spell on his leg and go back to bed. 

But he can’t. Or at least not yet. He needs to make sure the others understand the gravity of the situation.

“This thing didn’t set off any of my mirrors,” he tells them. “It didn’t trigger my perimeter spell. It broke down the doors inside the tower with a single kick, but it was smart enough to know that the front door to the tower was protected by magic and not to bother trying to enter by force. Or it was under the orders of someone smart enough to know that.”

“So what you’re saying is we’ll have no way of knowing if one is coming for us until it’s in the room,” Balthazar says. “That’s fantastic.”

“Unless we happen to hear it climbing the walls of the tower,” Hannah adds. 

“So we just sit around and wait for them to come to us? Forget about sleeping? Then make sure all the windows are open so we can shove them out?” Gabriel laughs. “I don’t see that working very well, sorry.”

Castiel doesn’t know what else to tell them. He glances uneasily at Michael’s mirror, which is still dark. “Battle strategy is not my strong suit,” he reminds them. “And we seem to be lacking the participation of our Military Watcher.”

“You don’t think--” Hannah says, going pale.

Balthazar shakes his head firmly. “No,” he says. “I’m sure Michael is fine. If one of those things did attempt to kill him, he’d find some way to destroy it with one of those terrifying axes he keeps lying around. He’s been out of the tower a lot lately. Consulting with the King and so on. I’m sure he’s just otherwise occupied.”

Castiel certainly hopes that Balthazar is correct. If the enemy is targeting the Watchers, it would make most sense to go after Michael first, as his position is most directly related to the looming war. Targeting the Red Tower would be the strategic move, really. Maybe Castiel was just a stop along the way, a practice run, so to speak. 

“Thank you for bringing this forward so quickly,” Hannah says. “You’ll be alright taking care of your leg?”

He smiles at her. “I think I can manage. But I appreciate your concern.”

“I hate to ask anything of you when you’ve already been through enough,” Balthazar says, and there’s a softness in his eyes that Castiel is unused to seeing. “But perhaps when you’re feeling up to it, you might examine the, uh, wreckage, so to speak.”

Castiel hadn’t really thought about that, but it is a good idea. Now that the creature poses no threat to him, he can take the opportunity to study it more closely.

“I will,” he says. “Of course.”

“Take care of yourself, Castiel,” Gabriel says, also unusually subdued. “Contact us again if you need us. For anything.”

Throat tight, Castiel nods, unable to find the words to say. He’s always liked and respected his fellow Watchers, but these dark times have brought them even closer together. He’s incredibly grateful for their concern and support right now, in spite of the physical distance between them. It’s reassuring to know that he is not alone.

With a last goodbye, all the mirrors go dark. Castiel stands there for a moment, gazing at his own reflection in their polished surfaces, and then begins gathering the ingredients for a healing spell for his leg.

As he coats the gash on his thigh with the mixture of herbs, he reflects grimly on how lucky he is to have escaped relatively unscathed. It could have gone far worse for him. If that sword had cut a little higher, or a little deeper, he may not have been able to summon the strength to push the creature out the window. Or he may have, and then still bled out on his workroom floor. It’s a dark thought, and Castiel tries to focus on the more pleasant reality instead. He’s injured, but alive. He’s tired, but he is still mobile. 

He can still be of service to the kingdom.

He wraps bandages around his leg, and then recites the healing incantation. He feels a tingle of warmth spread through the affected area, and the pain immediately begins to recede. When he tries to stand, he hardly notices it. 

Satisfied with his work, he nevertheless takes the stairs more slowly than he normally would, not wanting to put any unnecessary stress on his leg. He’s still tired overall as well, both physically and mentally. But he’s driven both by his sense of duty and his curiosity. He wants to know just what it was that attacked him. 

He reaches the kitchen level and undoes the locking spell on the front door, then steps outside. It’s a lovely fall morning, deceptively calm and peaceful. He makes his way around the base of the tower to the other side, and soon enough, he finds the shattered pieces of the creature, strewn rather grotesquely among the grass.

Castiel grimaces, but lowers himself into a crouch and takes the nearest piece in hand. It’s smooth and solid to the touch, and quite heavy. Just like rock or stone. He picks up another piece, one that looks as though it may have been part of the thing’s torso. There’s no evidence of blood, or of muscles, or organs. Just that strange brown material. 

He stands back up, frowning. Last night, he had imagined the creature to be some sort of monster, perhaps something native to Infernia, brought across the border at King Crowley’s command. But now that he’s examined it, it seems less and less likely that this is anything natural.

In fact, Castiel would wager that it was created by magic.

He doesn’t know much about Infernian magic, unfortunately. He does know, however, that it isn’t regulated the way it is here in Esporia. It can be learned by anyone with access to spellbooks or to a willing mentor, which is why the country is so constantly embroiled in inner conflict. Maybe King Crowley grew tired of the fighting and set his sights on the more stable land across the mountains, content to leave his squabbling people behind him. He could have enchanted these strange creatures into being rather than use human troops, whose loyalty could not always be trusted.

The more Castiel thinks on it, the more sense it makes. He remembers the way Dean’s squad had difficulty fighting their attackers in the woods, the way they seemed to disappear among the trees. Looking down at the mottled pieces of the creature on the ground before him, Castiel can imagine how that strange mixture of colours would make them hard to see in the dark. And the way it had kicked down the tower doors the night before proved its brute strength, also evidenced by the destruction of homes in Coldstream. 

The one thing that Castiel simply cannot figure out is just how the creatures are moving across the land. They may be camouflaged in the dark, yes, making them difficult to spot, but surely the mirrors would catch them at some point. Even if they couldn’t be seen, the spellwork on the mirrors would detect the threat. 

Castiel slowly circles the wreckage from the creature’s fall, looking for anything that might give him a clue as to how it snuck past his perimeter spell. Just as he’s about ready to give up, he brings his foot down on a rough patch of ground and nearly topples over, his injured leg protesting at the sudden pressure.

He lets out a curse and looks down, and then curses again, more vehemently this time. The ground is rough because it has been dug up. There’s a large hole in the earth just to the right of where he stands. Large enough for the creature to have passed through.

Castiel can hardly believe it. Some sort of underground passage? It sounds ridiculous, but he lowers himself to the ground and peers into the hole to investigate nevertheless. It’s very dark, and the smell of the damp earth makes him uneasy, but it does appear as though the hole is part of a larger tunnel that extends away from Castiel towards the mountains. 

He retreats and slumps on the ground beside it, puzzled. He’s never really considered it before, but he supposes the mirrors wouldn’t show them anything below ground. The earth is one area the Watchers have no real power over. Esporia is fortunate not to be susceptible to earthquakes or anything of the like, so there’s never really been a reason for magic of that sort. Balthazar tends to the crops that grow from the earth, yes, but his magic only really affects the topmost layer. Below that…

Below that is an enormous blind spot that someone has taken advantage of. 

Castiel hates to admit it, but it’s an incredible clever move. Sneaking fighters around the kingdom underground where they can’t be seen, then having them emerge right at the time and place of the attack, always catching their targets off-guard. It explains how they arrived in Coldstream without being seen, and why Castiel never saw them leave by the road. It explains how they snuck up on a squad of highly-trained Royal Guards in the forest, and how they disappeared after Castiel’s lightning bolt frightened them away. 

It explains how this one lying shattered on the ground a few feet away managed to make it to the Grey Tower unnoticed. 

He’ll have to investigate the tunnel, see how far it extends, where it leads. But it could take hours, and he doesn’t want to risk being away from the tower for that long. What if something else happens? This, he thinks to himself, would be an excellent time to have an apprentice. Someone he could send to gather information by exploring the tunnel while he stayed in the tower to keep watch on the mirrors. 

But Castiel is alone, and he doesn’t know which duty takes precedence. 

He catches himself yawning, and he’s relieved at the reminder that he isn’t operating at full capacity at the moment. It would be foolish of him to go charging off on an expedition into the tunnel when he isn’t in the best physical condition. The tunnel is already there, and he can’t possibly fill in the entire thing by himself. It will have to wait until he’s feeling better. Then he can explore it, and then destroy it. 

He stands up with only a bit of difficulty. He knows he has to report back to the others, warn them to check for disturbances in the ground around their towers. It might be the best protection they’ll get against a surprise attack. But he also desperately needs to sleep. The healing spell is working, but it works much more efficiently when the patient is resting, devoting all of their energy to the healing process.

There are many directions in which Castiel’s attention is being pulled. The stubborn part of him wants to chase them all, or at least pick one and see it through. But the rational part of him knows that he isn’t much good to the other Watchers and to the kingdom in his current state. Before anything else, he needs to focus on himself.

He climbs up the stairs to his bedchamber and takes in the mess left behind after last night’s attack. He pushes a hand through his hair wearily and debates just leaving it, but he knows he’ll find it difficult to sleep when the reminders of the event are right there in his face. So he clears the mess of fallen items from the floor, placing them back in their proper spots. He re-arranges the furniture and he straightens the drapes around the window. There isn’t much that he can do about the door, which is hanging from its hinges, splintered and ugly-looking. That will have to wait until another time. 

Once he’s reasonably satisfied with the state of his chamber, he pulls off his sleep pants, which are crusted with dried blood from his wound and covered in dirt from his discovery of the tunnel outside. He doesn’t bother putting on anything else, just collapses into the still-unmade bed, dragging the covers over himself.

Castiel curls in on himself, willing his mind to relax and allow him to drift off to sleep. There’s so much running through his head that it’s a difficult task to accomplish. He’s concerned about the other Watchers, about whether they’ll be attacked in the coming days as well. He wonders how far the tunnel extends, and how many of those rock creatures King Crowley has sent across the border. 

He wonders how much longer the kingdom has before they are forced to admit that their hundreds of years of peace have finally come to an end.

***

After his meeting with Michael ends, Dean feels strangely restless. He itches to go to the stables, grab Impala, and take off on a long solitary ride. Unfortunately, he’s on duty now, and can’t go running away just because he’s had an upsetting conversation with someone.

So he rounds up his squad and heads out to the training ground. It’s busier than usual, other squads going through complicated series of movements, all with similarly serious expressions on their faces. Jo keeps giving Dean these sideways looks like she’s trying to read his mood, and Benny and Victor are unusually quiet.

Dean leads them to an unoccupied corner of the area, and scrubs a hand over his face tiredly. He needs to shave. It hasn’t exactly been high on his list of priorities, lately. 

“Alright, listen up,” he says. The other three turn to face him, their faces tight. “I know things have been weird lately. Trust me, they’ve been damn weird for me too. But we can either let ourselves get swept up in all the nonsense and lose all our humour,” he sweeps an arm out, indicating the other squads, “or we can do our best to cling to a sense of normalcy because it’s all we’ve got left.”

Benny breathes out a relieved sigh. “Good to hear you say that, Captain,” he says. “Was worried you were going to turn into a hard-ass all of a sudden.”

“I’ll accept compliments about my ass when you’re begging me to give you a break from the grueling training regimen we’re about to start,” Dean shoots back, and he’s pleased when Victor cracks a grin and Jo lets out an undignified snort. 

He needs them to all be on the same page here. Dean feels like the ground is slipping away under his feet, slowly but surely, and he’s holding onto the most important things in his life with all that he has. If his best friends turn into mindless soldiers with nothing but a grim sense of duty guiding them, they won’t last long in this fight. Dean won’t let that happen. He can’t. 

“Let’s get started, then,” he says. He gestures at Jo and Victor to step forward. She prefers to fight with her knives, but she’s more than competent with a sword as well. Victor’s bigger, but Jo’s quicker, and their sparring matches are always fairly even fights.

Dean watches them for a few minutes, pleased with what he sees. They both move well, and he’s confident that they can take their skills off the training ground and into real combat if-- or when-- it comes to that. More than that, they’re both smiling, challenging each other, clearly enjoying themselves. Not that he wants them to enjoy being in a real battle, but he wants them to have smiles on their faces for as long as possible.

Just as he’s about to raise his hand to signal them to halt, he feels the blunt edge of one of their practice swords pressing into the small of his back. He turns around sharply and with a quick twist, tugs the sword out of Benny’s grip.

“Please,” he says, “You’ve got to try harder than that.”

Benny just chuckles and takes the sword back, then raises it in a defensive stance. Dean smiles and raises his own sword in answer. Behind him, the noises from Jo and Victor’s match have ceased, and he glances back quickly to see that they’ve both stopped, leaning on their swords to watch. 

Benny moves first, taking advantage of Dean’s distraction, but Dean parries the blow. They swing back and forth at each other, and Dean feels the last lingering traces of tension from his conversation with Michael drain away. It feels good to run through the movements of a fight, even if there’s nothing at stake right now. He’s been training this way for years, and the patterns are as familiar to him as breathing. 

Which is why he’s surprised to find himself flat on his back on the dusty ground with Benny leaning over him, pinning his hands down. 

“Did you just tackle me?” Dean demands, torn between shock and outrage. 

Benny grins triumphantly down at him. “This ain’t the time to practice being polite, now is it,” he points out.

Dean can hear Jo and Victor snickering from above him, and he has to admit, it probably looks pretty funny from their perspective. “Get off me, you big lump,” he says, shoving playfully at Benny, who obligingly rolls to the side and lets Dean up.

He narrows his eyes at Jo and Victor, who suddenly stop laughing at the look on his face. “If any of you ever breathe a word of this to Sam,” he threatens. It’s one thing to deal with the amusement of his squad. It’s another to go around telling stories of Dean’s embarrassment to outsiders.

Jo lays a hand over her heart, mock-serious. “I swear, this stays between us,” she says, a current of laughter still present in her voice.

Victor shrugs apologetically. “I’ll try not to tell him, but you might piss me off, and then who knows what I’ll do,” he explains. That’s fair as well, so Dean just nods.

They train for a few more hours, until the sun starts to set. Then Dean calls a halt, and they all gather around, slightly out breath, but with happy and satisfied smiles on their faces.

“Alright, squad, I think we’re done for the day,” he says. Looking around, he notes that many of the other groups are wrapping up for the day as well. “We’ll meet back here tomorrow morning.”

The other three offer him a quick salute, which he returns. That marks the end of their official training, but they linger a few minutes longer, just chatting. Finally, they say their goodbyes, and Dean watches as they make their way out of the gate and into the city. 

Once they’re gone, he heads for home as well. He still isn’t quite used to how close his house is to the Guard’s barracks, but after such a tiring day, it’s nice not to have to cross half the city before getting home. 

He’s growing to like his little house, at least. It’s nice to have something that’s his and his alone, and especially in these troubled times, it offers a quiet place for Dean to be alone with his thoughts. He unlocks the door, running his hand over the plain dark wood, and thinks that maybe, when this crisis has blown past, he should paint it a cheerful colour. A bright blue would be nice. 

The house is mostly dark, the last fading light of the sun just barely streaming in through the front windows. Dean lights his candles and stirs the kitchen fire back to life, hanging the kettle over it to heat water for tea. While he waits, he cuts himself a thick slice of bread and slathers it with butter, sitting down at his table and propping his feet up on the second chair. 

He should go to bed early tonight, he thinks to himself. He doesn’t have any other plans for the evening, and he’s still having trouble sleeping, so he figures he should put in some extra effort. At least his body will rest, even if he can’t manage to stop his brain from working. 

Once his tea is ready, he takes it to his bedroom, lighting the large candle that sits on his bedside table. It burns with a steady glow, bright enough for him to read by. He crosses to the other side of the room and runs his fingers across the small selection of books that he brought with him from his old house, collected together on a single shelf here. Smiling, he pulls out a slim volume bound in aged green leather and returns to bed. It’s an adventure story about a princess who runs away to live with dragons. His mother used to read it to him before she died, and he would read it to Sam in later years. He opens the book, and loses himself in the familiar world. 

He finishes the book in just under two hours, and catches himself yawning as he puts it down. Perfect. He should probably change out of his uniform, but he’s already in bed and comfortable enough, so he just strips off his tunic and tosses it carelessly to the floor, then blows out the candle and closes his eyes.

He’s awoken hours later by the sound of screaming.

Dean scrambles out of bed, finding his tunic by touch, and hurries out to the main room of the house, where he left his sword and scabbard when he got home. He buckles it hastily around his waist and pulls on his boots, then dashes out the front door.

The city is on fire.

Dean swallows back his fear. He hasn’t been particularly fond of flames ever since his mother’s death, and the memories of that night are threatening to crowd his brain, overpowering all else. He takes a deep breath and thrusts them aside. He’s not a frightened eight-year old watching as his neighbour’s house is steadily engulfed in flames, wondering when his mother will emerge. He’s a Captain of the Royal Guard, and now is not the time to lose his nerve. 

He takes a quick look around and notes that the brightness from the fires seems concentrated in this neighbourhood. It makes sense-- a direct attack on the city’s most important structures, from the Guard’s barracks to the Hall of Justice to the palace itself, which are all grouped together within this section of the capital. 

He sees a young woman frantically trying to keep her children calm, and hurries to direct them. “Get out of this area,” he tells her. “Head for the outer neighbourhoods, they seem safer. If you can, get out of the city entirely.”

She nods and gathers up her family, fleeing down the streets. Dean watches her go, noting how many others follow suit, streaming outwards from their burning homes.

Dean turns in the opposite direction and runs for the palace, bypassing the Guard’s headquarters entirely. He trusts them to take care of themselves, but if the city is under attack, the greatest threat is to the king. No matter how many guards were posted to the palace, they could always use more.

Servants and courtiers are fleeing, clad in an assortment of nightgowns and hastily thrown-on garments that would be amusing under any other circumstances. They take no notice of Dean as he pushes his way past them, too intent on their own flight. Dean thanks the stars that he’s familiar enough with the palace layout to know the way to the king’s private chambers, so he can make his way directly there.

The wooden doors are hanging open, and Dean draws his sword, ready to fend off any attackers. There’s no sign of movement in the outer chamber, but then Dean hears a loud noise like a clay pot breaking, and bursts into the inner room with his sword raised high.

He finds himself looking directly at Bobby and Rufus, both of whom have their swords pointed at him, as though expecting him to be an enemy soldier. “Woah, woah,” he says, skidding to a halt. He locates King Charles, still huddled on his massive bed, eyes wide with surprise and terror. And then, off to the side--

“What, exactly, is that?” Dean asks, nearly dropping his sword in surprise. There’s a pile of what looks like broken pottery on the ground beside the bed, except if the pottery was in the approximate shape of an oversized man. 

Bobby finally lowers his sword. “That,” he says, “is what’s left of one of the things running around setting the city on fire.”

Dean crosses the room to investigate it further. He pokes at a piece with the tip of his sword, and as it rolls over, he realizes it’s a piece of an arm. Grimacing in disgust, he looks back up at the other guards. “How do you stop them?” Right now, that’s the most important information.

“Smashed it with that table there,” Rufus says. “Swords and knives don’t work on it. Gotta break ‘em down into pieces.”

“Great,” Dean mutters. “Alright, well, time to go, Your Majesty.”

“Go?” the king repeats. “Where exactly do you suggest I go, Captain Winchester? From what I understand, the entire city is on fire. Nowhere is safe.”

“This room is easily defendable,” Bobby points out. “The king will be safer here.”

“For how long?” Dean snaps. “We don’t know how many more of these things are out there. It took both you and Rufus to stop this one. If they come in a pack, we might be squashed before we have a chance to break them. If we stay on the move, we have a better chance of avoiding them. They’ll be looking for you here, sire. So the best place for you to be is not here.”

Rufus sighs. “Hate to admit it, but the boy’s right. We have to move.”

“Can I get dressed first?” the king asks timidly.

Dean almost laughs. “Yeah, but dress comfortable,” he advises. “We’ll stop by the stables, grab our horses.”

Bobby nods. “This thing was strong, but it wasn’t exactly quick. If we ride, we might be able to outrun them.”

“Good.” Dean turns back to the king, who’s pulling a dark shirt over his head. “Ready, Your Majesty?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” King Charles replies, and follows Dean out the door, Bobby and Rufus taking up protective stances on either side of him. 

There are others still frantically heading for the exits, but not as many as before. Dean hopes that most of them have made it to safety, or are in the process of doing so. They make it to the stables without any trouble, and Dean is glad to see that all the stableboys have fled as well. He hopes they’ll be safe. They’re too young for their lives to end tonight.

He gets Impala ready to ride, and he’s impressed that the king only takes a few minutes longer to saddle his own mount. “I’m not completely useless,” the king says, catching Dean’s look of surprise. Dean hastily schools his features into a more neutral expression.

There’s a clatter of movement at the other end of the stable, and Dean wheels Impala around, drawing his sword as he does. “Captain!” he hears Jo call out. “It’s just us.”

“Oh good,” Rufus says. “The more the merrier.”

Jo and Benny and Victor run over, their faces smudged with ash but otherwise seemingly unharmed. “You alright?” Dean asks.

They all nod in unison. “Good. Then mount up. We’re escorting the king out of here.”

It only takes a few minutes before they’re ready to ride, and then they set out across the burning city. It hurts to look at the houses as they’re swallowed by the flames. The only consolation Dean has is the knowledge that halfway across the kingdom, a mirror in the Grey Tower will be alight, and Castiel will be preparing a spell to bring the rain and douse the flames. 

Castiel. Dean has been wracking his brain, trying to think of a safe place to take the king. The Grey Tower is the perfect solution. It’s far enough away from the capital that they won’t easily be found, and Dean trusts Castiel with his own life. He trusts him with the king’s as well. 

That’s a rare thing at a time like this. This attack was so sudden, so surprising, that Dean finds it difficult to comprehend how Infernia could have pulled it off without help from within Esporia. The thought is horrible, but rationally, Dean knows that someone must be working against the kingdom from within. That thing had found its way to the king’s private chambers far too easily. It must have been given direct, specific orders from someone who knows the palace.

Which means that basically everyone is a suspect, other than those riding with Dean right now. And Sam, of course.

“Shit,” Dean swears. He has to make sure Sam is okay. He’s been too busy thinking about the king’s safety, and he berates himself for losing track of the most important person in his life. They’re approaching the area of the city where Dean used to live. Only a few stragglers remain in the streets, and only some of the houses here are on fire, rather than all of them. 

He wheels Impala around to take her down the street that will lead him to Sam and Jess. “Take the king outside the city walls,” he orders Benny. “All of you, stay together. Wait for me at the eastern road. If I’m not there fifteen minutes after you, go on without me.”

“Just where do you think you’re going, Dean?” Bobby asks. “Last time I checked, I’m the one who gives the orders around here.”

“It’s Sam, Bobby,” Dean pleads. “Fifteen minutes. I’ll meet you there.”

He charges off down the street, ignoring their shouts as he rides away. He stops Impala outside the Winchester home, swearing when he sees that the door is hanging open. He draws his sword, despite knowing that it will be no good if one of those creatures is inside. 

He runs into the house, and sure enough, another of the earth-things is there, steadily moving towards Jess, who is trying to fend it off with a kitchen knife. Her eyes meet Dean’s over the thing’s head and widen in surprise.

“Hey, ugly,” Deans calls from behind it. “Leave the nice lady alone.”

The thing slowly turns to face him, and Dean recoils in disgust. Its face is eerily blank, its features soft and undefined. He searches around the room for something he can use to break it, something harder than its earthen skin, 

“Dean, how do we stop it?” Jess calls out. Bless her. Not running away in fear, but doing her best to help defeat this thing.

“We have to shatter it,” Dean answers, keeping a wary eye on the thing as he backs away slowly. “We need something heavy. Solid.”

Jess’ eyes go wide and she points to the decorative iron crest over the mantelpiece. It’s an heirloom of the Winchester family, having graced the walls of this house for generations. Perfect, Dean thinks.

But now he needs a second to wrench the crest free from the wall, and he doesn’t want to turn his back on the creature. Jess obviously has the same thought, because she throws her knife at its back with surprising accuracy. It makes a noise that sounds like surprise, and turns to face her again. 

“Hurry, Dean,” she says, grabbing another knife to hold in front of herself.

Dean uses the point of his sword to loosen the screws on the crest, and staggers back under its weight when it falls into his waiting hands. The thing is almost within reach of Jess when he sneaks up behind it and slams the crest into the back of its head with all of his might. A large crack appears, but it doesn’t break.

Dean swears and dodges as it swings its sword around wildly. He hits it again, but he’s unable to get the right angle, and as the thing roars, it lashes out and sends Dean flying across the room. He slams into the wall, and the breath is knocked out of him. The crest clatters to the floor.

He struggles to get to his feet as the creature stumbles towards him, obviously injured but still moving. A pair of hands enter Dean’s field of vision and grab the crest, and Dean manages to lever himself off the floor just in time to see Sam bring the crest down on the thing’s head with a truly sickening crunch. 

It drops like the stone it seems to be made of, landing in a crumpled heap at Sam’s feet. The rest of its body is intact, but its head has shattered into hundreds of pieces, and that seems to be enough to stop it. 

Sam sweeps Jess into a quick hug, then leads her over to where Dean stands. “Questions later,” Dean says, raising a hand to cut him off before he can start. “For now, let’s get out of here.”

Sam nods. “I’ve got the horses,” he says. “I left when I saw the flames from the city centre. Guess I shouldn’t have left you alone,” he says with an apologetic glance at Jess.

She squeezes his shoulder lightly in comfort. “I’m okay,” she assures him. “You’re okay, we’re together. Let’s keep it that way.”

“Excellent plan,” Dean says, swinging back onto Impala’s back. “Come on, I’ve got people waiting at the eastern gate.”

They ride in tense silence, and Dean wonders how long exactly it’s been since he rode away from the others. He thinks they’ll make it in time, but if not, where will they decide to go?

Fortunately, the point is moot. He and Sam and Jess pass through the eastern gate and find the others waiting for them just down the road. The king is huddled in the centre of the group so as not to attract notice, and Dean is glad to see it. His safety is still their first priority.

“Why are we here?” Rufus asks bluntly. “Everybody else is heading south or west. Why would be going towards the enemy’s land?”

Sam shoots Dean a sharp look. “Do we know they’re from Infernia?” he asks in a low voice. 

“It’s the running theory,” Dean answers him quietly, then raises his voice to address the group as a whole. “Look, I don’t know what happened here tonight. But we have to get the king out of the city. And I don’t know who we can trust other than who we have with us right now. Except for one person.”

Jo raises a quizzical eyebrow at him, and Dean takes a deep breath before continuing. “We make for the Grey Tower,” he says firmly.

There’s a split-second of startled silence, and then everyone starts talking at once. Dean raises his hand and cuts them all off. “Yes, it’s a long ride. Yes, it’s in the same direction as Infernia, which is presumably where these attackers are coming from. But they’re already here. I doubt they would attack the capital with much less than their full strength, so we’re unlikely to run into them on the way. We have enough of us to fight off any stragglers we might encounter. And I trust Castiel.”

“With the king’s life?” Bobby asks. “It’s a big risk, Dean.”

“I know,” Dean says, pleading. “Please. Believe me.”

He looks around at them, trying to convince them of the logic in his plan, and just then, it starts to rain. 

_Perfect timing, Cas_ , Dean thinks to himself. He points up at the sky. “See that? That’s the work of the Weather Watcher right there. That’s Castiel, helping us out from halfway across the kingdom. Maybe there are closer places, places with people we can trust. But we don’t know that for sure. He’s the only one I can be sure of.”

Surprisingly, it’s King Charles who speaks up. “I trust Captain Winchester,” he says. “If he says this is our best option, then so be it.”

Rufus sighs, but moves into position at the king’s right side, scowling at everyone else. “Well, let’s get going then,” he says. 

“We’re with you, Dean,” Jo says as she takes up her position. Victor and Benny nod their agreement. Dean is glad for their support.

“Alright,” he says, leading Impala to the front of the group. “We’ve got a long ride ahead of us. Stay close, stay careful.”

There’s a murmur of assent from the assembled group, and then they’re off, riding eastwards, away from the burning city, its flames slowly but surely being extinguished by the steady rain.


	11. Chapter 11

The sound that wakes Castiel is unlike anything he has ever heard.

He scrambles out of bed as quickly as he can and races down the stairs to his workroom. He comes to a halt in the doorway, stunned by what he sees.

Every mirror in the room is alight, except for those that connect directly to the other Watchers. They’re all blazing bright, shrieking their alarms at him. It can only mean one thing: the entire kingdom is threatened.

Castiel swallows roughly and begins examining the mirrors, trying to determine exactly what’s going on. He’s gratified to see that most of them show undisturbed towns or villages, indicating that the issue is still somewhat contained. A flash of movement in one of the largest mirrors catches his eye. It’s the one that shows the capital city, specifically the central area surrounding the palace. As Castiel frowns and peers more closely at the image displayed within the ornate gold frame, the city is set on fire.

He swears and stumbles back. Well, that certainly explains the rest of the mirrors going off. An attack on Veridia is an attack on the heart of the kingdom itself. He can see people dashing about the city in a panic as more and more homes begin to burn. He hopes they can make it out of the city, and that their homes will be all that they lose. 

He sees a glimpse of something larger than the average person making its way through the palace gates, ignoring the people frantically fleeing from the fire. It’s dark, but Castiel is nearly certain that it’s the same type of creature that attacked him in his tower the night before. So they’ve reached the capital. 

Castiel chews his lip nervously as he plans how best to come to the city’s aid. He wishes his voice-projection spell had the range to reach Veridia, so he could tell the people how best to defend themselves against their attackers. But that was impossible.

He shakes his head at his own foolishness. Why waste time relaying a message when he could take direct action? _You’re the Weather Watcher, idiot_ , he scolds himself. The city is on fire. He remembers what Dean told him about his mother’s death, how it started raining on an otherwise clear day, and how it must have been the work of the Weather Watcher at the time. Castiel can do the same thing now, but on a larger scale.

It will take time, as all spells do. But it’s the best he can do. 

He reaches for his spellbook and locates the correct spell. He’s used it many times before, so he should be successful. He’ll have to adjust it, concentrating the rain only on the capital city, and ensuring that it’s intense enough to put out the flames quickly. 

He gathers his ingredients and mixes them together, then takes the copper bowl up to his bedchamber and cranks open the roof. It’s easier to do larger workings when he has direct access to the outdoors. The night air is cool and still. For now. 

He takes a deep breath and holds the bowl out in front of him, then raises it slowly upwards as he begins the incantation. He keeps his eyes closed, but he can feel the power building around him, and he breathes steadily, keeping it under his control. Then he places the bowl on the ground at his feet and moves his hands in the familiar patterns that twist the raw energy into his intended outcome.

The power surges through him, spiralling outwards from his hands and up towards the open roof. There’s a bright flash of light, pale blue in colour. It hovers above the tower for a second, and then streaks across the sky before disappearing into the west. 

Castiel slowly lowers his hands and speaks a short phrase, which will keep the spell in place while he returns to the workroom to observe it as it goes into effect. He looks into the mirror that shows the capital again, and sees that most of the inner circles of the city are engulfed in flames. 

Only a few minutes later, however, he sees the cobblestone streets begin to darken from the raindrops that begin to fall from the sky. He lets out a shaky sigh, pleased that his spell is working. As the rain increases in strength, the fires begin to die down. There are still people running from the city, though their numbers have dwindled. He suspects most of them have already made it past the gates to safety, or at least he hopes so. He doesn’t particularly want to consider other possibilities. 

He keeps watch over the city until the last of the fires has burned out, which takes several hours. He’s tired by then, but he maintains his vigil. When the last spluttering flame has been extinguished by the rain he sent, Castiel raises his hands once more and makes a sharp motion, speaking the phrase to end the spell. The rain stops, and the city is quiet.

Well, he’s taken care of one part of the problem, at least. And the mirrors have quieted down. Castiel isn’t sure what this means with regard to the strange earthen creatures. Have the people of Veridia managed to destroy them all, or have they simply retreated? He watches the mirror for a few minutes more, hoping to see confirmation of either scenario, but the streets are empty. Nothing moves, human or otherwise. 

He paces nervously around the room, glancing over at the mirror every few seconds as though it will give him precise instructions on how to proceed. His training never prepared him for situations like this. It was always a simple chain of action and reaction. If an area was too hot, send a breeze to cool it down. If a river was threatening to flood its banks, keep away the rain for a few days until it could settle. Anna never taught Castiel how to fight monsters made of hardened earth or how to help a city struck by a disastrous fire. 

But what she did teach him was the importance of taking care of himself. Castiel wants to resist that lesson, wants to contact the other Watchers and discuss the attack with them, but he knows Anna was right, as she nearly always was. He needs to sleep for at least a few hours, or he’ll be next to useless. He’ll compromise and only allow himself a brief nap, so that he can regain his strength without feeling too much like he’s hiding from his responsibilities.

He climbs wearily back up the stairs to his bedchamber, struck by how often he’s repeated this pattern over the last few days. He hasn’t gotten a solid night’s rest in quite some time. And with the way things are going, he’s unlikely to do so anytime in the near future either. 

He manages to get a few hours of rest before he’s woken by the early morning sun streaming in through the windows and the roof, which he never bothered to close the night before. Grumbling to himself, he staggers out of bed and down to the bathing chamber. The hot water helps soothe his nerves, and he feels clean and refreshed after his bath. And also hungry. 

He prepares himself tea and toast, then takes it back up to his workroom to check on all the mirrors. They’re quiet, almost as though they’re apologizing for all their noise the night before. He watches the mirror that shows the capital for nearly half an hour and sees no sign of any people moving about. Most of the residents must have fled, and those that remained behind are keeping out of sight. Castiel doesn’t blame them for their caution. 

A ringing noise from another mirror distracts him, and he turns to see that Gabriel is contacting him. He passes his hand over the green-framed mirror and nods wearily at the other Watcher when his face comes into view.

“Good work with the rain, Castiel,” Gabriel says immediately. Good. They’re not going to waste precious time with pleasantries. Castiel can appreciate that. 

He shrugs lightly. “I wish there was more I could have done.”

“You did more than I could,” Gabriel says, a scowl on his usually cheerful face. “I got some of the animals out, but…”

Castiel winces. Gabriel wouldn’t have been able to reach all of them, and surely some of them were lost to the flames. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. He knows how much Gabriel cares about all the animals of the kingdom.

“It’s going to get worse before it gets better,” Gabriel says darkly. “I can’t see anything going on in Veridia now. It makes me nervous. Why attack the capital if you’re not planning to swoop in and seize the throne immediately?”

Castiel has been wondering the exact same thing. “Perhaps it was an advance force,” he offers. “In case the attack failed, then King Crowley would not be putting himself in harm’s way. Now that the city is vulnerable, he’ll make his move.”

“Perhaps.” Gabriel pushes his hair back from his forehead worriedly. “I haven’t been able to locate King Charles, or able to contact Michael to ask him about the king’s safety.”

That is not encouraging news. Castiel had seen one of the creatures entering the palace. The king was likely its intended target. Castiel doesn’t want to consider the possibility that the king might be dead. “Keep trying,” he tells Gabriel. “Michael is likely with the king, wherever they are. I can’t fault him for being too busy to answer us at the moment. He has bigger concerns.”

Gabriel nods. “I’ll contact Hannah as well, tell her to be prepared in case any of those hurt in the attack make their way to the Blue Tower to be healed.”

“Yes, good plan.” Castiel waves goodbye, and the mirror goes dark again. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s tempted to reach out to Michael himself, to reassure himself that the king is safe, hopefully having sought refuge in the Red Tower. The chances of Michael answering are slim, but still…

His hand is outstretched, reaching towards the red-framed mirror, when his perimeter spell goes off. Startled, Castiel springs back, clutching his hands to his chest. He hurries to bring up an image in the large mirror, and as the mirror comes into focus, he lets out a gasp of surprise. 

Making their way towards the tower is a group of ten or so people, mounted on horseback, and right in the front is none other than King Charles himself. And beside him, Dean. 

Castiel nearly sags to the ground in relief. The king is alive. And Dean-- brave, wonderful, stubborn Dean-- is bringing him here. Castiel recognizes most of the others from his brief glimpses of them in his mirrors or from Dean’s descriptions. He’s glad to see that they all escaped from the capital, and from what he can ascertain, they are all unharmed. 

He rushes down the stairs and out of the tower, ready to greet them when they ride up. It’s not long before he sees them approaching. He lifts a hand in greeting, and Dean does the same. They’re too far apart to be sure, but Castiel thinks the other man is smiling.

He waits until they’re right in front of them before sweeping into a low bow. “Welcome, Your Majesty,” he says. “I am pleased to see you unharmed.”

“Rise, Watcher,” the king says formally. Castiel straightens up, and though the king looks exhausted, there’s warmth in his blue eyes as he looks at him. “We come seeking refuge, at the advice of Captain Winchester, who assures us that you are to be trusted.”

Castiel sneaks a glance at Dean, who winks at him. Impossible man. Castiel bites his lip to hold back a grin and addresses the king once more. “The Grey Tower is open to you and your companions. Please,” he says, gesturing towards the tower door, “come in and rest.”

The group dismounts, and with another brief look at Castiel, Dean leads the king inside, his familiarity with the tower serving him well. The others begin unpacking their saddlebags and offering treats to their horses, who look just as tired as their riders. 

Castiel hovers awkwardly, unsure how to proceed, and is saved by the approach of the tall young man he knows to be Dean’s brother. “Hello,” he says with a smile. “I’m Sam. Dean’s brother. It’s an honour to meet you.”

“Welcome, Sam,” Castiel says. “Your brother speaks very highly of you. I’m happy to see that you’re safe.”

“And this is my wife, Jess,” Sam says, smiling at the blonde woman who comes to join them. Castiel offers her a smile as well, which she returns easily.

“This is lovely,” one of the two older men interrupts, “but let’s get practical issues dealt with before we all start getting to know each other.”

Sam rolls his eyes fondly. “Of course, Bobby,” he says. 

Ah, so this is Bobby Singer, Commander of the Royal Guard. Castiel stands a little straighter and nods at him. “Of course,” he echoes. “How may I be of service?”

“We’ve got tents in our packs,” Bobby says, his eyes moving over the flat stretches of grass surrounding the tower. “We can camp out here, but I want the king inside.”

“Naturally,” Castiel agrees. “There is a chamber usually occupied by an apprentice that will serve, as I have no apprentice at this time.”

“Two of us will be on guard with him at all times, one inside the door, one outside,” the other older man says, coming to join their conversation. “Rufus Turner. Head of the palace guards. Or at least I was,” he huffs. 

Castiel winces. It must be a difficult blow, to know that the palace was attacked on your watch. Though Rufus’ manner is gruff, Castiel finds it hard to be offended. In his place, he would probably be even more cantankerous. 

He looks around at the others. The three members of Dean’s squad are setting up their tents, and Sam and Jess are coaxing the horses into being lashed together so they can’t run off. 

“I suggest that after a brief rest, one or two of you ride for Coldstream to obtain provisions,” he says, turning back to Rufus and Bobby. “I was not expecting so many guests.” He’s slightly ashamed of this fact, but it isn’t as though the Grey Tower is accustomed to hosting. 

“Fair enough,” Bobby replies. “We’re just happy to have somewhere to rest. Even if it is right beside the border with Infernia.” He shoots a wary glance at the mountains. 

Castiel can’t blame him for being suspicious. “I won’t lie and say that we’re completely safe here,” he admits. “But we may not be safe anywhere in the kingdom. The tower is easily defendable, at least, even with our small number. And considering my surprise when I realized who was riding towards me, I doubt many others will think to look for the king here.”

Rufus nods. “Good,” he says. “That’s what we need. Time to make a plan.”

Castiel casts a glance towards the tower, wondering what Dean and the king are doing. Bobby sees him looking, and snorts. “Go on,” he says. “We’ll finish setting up out here. Go see if they need your help getting the king settled in.”

Castiel frowns slightly, unsure how much Bobby knows about his relationship with Dean. Is his concern over the other man so evident on his face? But he’s been given an excuse, so Castiel takes it, turning away from the guards and heading back inside the tower.

The kitchen is empty, though the kettle is still hot. Castiel can hear voices upstairs, so he climbs up towards the apprentice’s chamber, knowing that Dean will have brought the king there. 

He doesn’t know what to say to him. The very fact that Dean came here in his time of need makes a warm feeling settle in Castiel’s chest. To be trusted like that… it’s a great honour. But this isn’t exactly the way either of them intended their next meeting to go. There are far more people around, for one thing. And far too much uncertainty about the state of the kingdom.

Nevertheless, Castiel is beyond thrilled that Dean is here with him once more. He’s just rounding the last corner, about to step onto the landing outside the door to the apprentice’s chamber, when he looks up to see Dean closing the door softly behind him. 

Castiel pauses, one step below Dean, so he’s looking up into his face. Handsome as ever, but with new lines of tiredness and worry etched around his eyes. Castiel imagines he must have similar wrinkles, and feels comforted by the fact that they’re equally affected. 

Dean smiles down at him, soft and affectionate, and Castiel feels his lips curl upwards in response. “Hello, Dean,” he says.

***

Dean is exhausted, and he probably smells pretty gross, like a combination of smoke and sweat, but with the way Castiel is looking at him, he can’t bring himself to care about any of that. He held himself back when they first arrived, kept a professional distance, focused on getting King Charles inside and comfortable so that he could get some well-deserved rest. But now the king is tucked up in the big bed that Dean used the last time he was here, probably fast asleep, and Castiel is standing on the staircase looking up at Dean with an awestruck expression on his face.

Dean feels his smile grow bigger at Castiel’s greeting, and he reaches down and takes the other man by the wrist, guiding him up the last step so that they’re on equal footing. He swallows around the nervous lump in his throat. “Hey, Cas,” he eventually replies. 

They’re still joined at the hand and wrist, and they’re just standing there, looking at each other. Finally Castiel makes a frustrated noise and pulls Dean in sharply towards him, crashing their mouths together in a fierce kiss. 

Dean is more than okay with this turn of events. He backs them up until Castiel hits the wall behind him with a little exhale, but he doesn’t stop kissing him. Dean crowds in closer so that they’re pressed against each other, both of his hands clinging tightly to Castiel’s hips. Cas has one hand buried in Dean’s hair and the other resting perilously low on his back, just barely brushing the curve of his ass. 

They kiss like this for a few minutes, or maybe an eternity-- after the night he’s had, Dean’s concept of time has pretty much flown out the window. Eventually, though, he pulls back with reluctance, and buries his head in the crook of Cas’ shoulder. It feels safe here, just like he knew it would. 

Castiel strokes his hand up and down Dean’s back, and he leans into the touch like an overgrown cat, shameless. “Feels nice,” he mumbles, and feels Castiel’s chest shake as he laughs. 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Castiel admits, a slight hitch in his voice.

Dean steps back, and Castiel lets him. “I didn’t know where else to go. I don’t know what’s going on, I just knew we could trust you.”

Castiel nods, reaching out to lightly touch Dean’s cheek. “Thank you, for that,” he says gravely. “I’m honoured to be of service.”

“You already were, with the rain,” Dean points out. “Was kind of how I convinced everyone that you would be on our side.”

“I’m always on your side.” There’s an earnestness in Castiel’s expression as he says this that makes Dean’s heart flutter in his chest. 

More than anything, he wants to take Castiel upstairs and climb into his big bed and just hold each other. But they still have to deal with the situation at hand. Dean sighs and gestures towards the stairs. “We should probably have a conference with the others, make a plan.”

Castiel nods his agreement. “They’re setting up their tents, getting things organized. They’re holding it together remarkably well.”

“They’re the best of the best,” Dean says with pride. They descend the stairs together, still holding hands, and as they reach the kitchen level, Castiel pulls away. 

Dean looks up at him, puzzled, and sees a faint flush on the other man’s cheeks. “I apologize,” Castiel says softly. “I assume you don’t want them to know that we, well…” he trails off.

Honestly, at this point, Dean really doesn’t give a damn if the rest of his ragtag group of runaways from the capital knows that he and Castiel are more than just acquaintances. He shrugs. “Sam already knows,” he explains, “and I don’t care what the rest of them think. They’ll tease me for it, but I bet they’ll be too terrified of you and your cool magic powers to give you any trouble about it.”

Castiel smiles, and reaches back out. Dean grips his hand tightly, and they go back outside to confer with the others.

Sam smiles when he sees them, only slightly smug, and Jo gives Dean a lascivious wink, but other than that, no one comments on their closeness. Dean squeezes Castiel’s hand reassuringly and addresses the small crowd. 

“Alright, listen up, everyone,” he begins. He feels a bit strange about the way he’s taken charge of this group, considering that both Bobby and Rufus outrank him, but both of them seem content with the ways things have gone thus far. Dean’s sure that they’ll have no problem speaking up if they disagree with anything he says.

“We’re all here, and we’re safe. The king is resting. Third floor. Jo, Victor, I want you two on guard for now. Jo outside, Victor inside the chamber. We’ll relieve you in a bit.”

Jo and Victor offer him a quick salute, then disappear inside the tower. 

“Benny, I want you to take Jess and head into Coldstream. You know the way, and Jess knows what we’ll need in terms of supplies.” Her hours at the healing centre have prepared Jess for a number of situations, including housing and feeding newcomers to the city. She’ll also be able to pick up any healing supplies she might need to have on hand.

“Bobby, Rufus, Sam: we’re going to take council with Castiel here,” Dean finishes. “Everybody got it?”

There are nods of acknowledgement from everyone gathered. “And once all that is out of the way, we’re going to get some well-deserved rest, no matter what time of day it is.”

“Sounds good to me,” Benny calls out, and there are small smiles and laughs all around. Dean’s happy to see that everyone is still in fairly good spirits. They need to keep the morale high for as long as possible. 

Castiel ushers those who are staying at the tower inside, and Dean leads them up to the workroom. Its large table will be best for them to gather around. They pass Jo on guard outside the chamber where the king is sleeping, and she nods at them as they climb the next two flights of stairs up to the workroom. 

Bobby and Rufus take the only two chairs, and Dean grins at the sight. They’ll say it’s because they’re entitled to them due to their age, but Dean knows that they’re both tired. He can’t fault them for it, he’s tired too. So he perches on the edge of the table, and Sam leans beside him. Castiel hovers, checking on his mirrors, oblivious to the way the others are sneaking impressed glances around the room. It is pretty impressive on first sight, Dean recalls. 

“So,” Bobby says. “Let’s get this ball rolling.”

“I’ve got a question,” Sam says. “What, exactly, was that thing that attacked Jess? I’ve never seen anything like it. Never even read about anything like it.”

They had swapped stories on the long ride to the Grey Tower, so all of them from Veridia were caught up on the individual events that had taken place before they fled the city. Only Castiel frowns at Sam’s comment. “ _Thing_?” he repeats. “You were attacked by one of those earth creatures as well?”

Dean shoots a sharp glance at him. “Yeah, Bobby and Rufus smashed up the one that came after the king, and then me and Sam took care of another one that got into his house. You’ve seen them too?”

Castiel’s lips twist in a strange grimace. “Yes, I saw the one heading into the palace,” he says, indicating one of the mirrors on the wall with a jerk of his head. “But that wasn’t my first encounter with them. One of them attacked me here in the tower the night before last.”

“What?” Dean says sharply. He pushes off from the table and crosses over to where Castiel is standing with his arms tightly folded across his chest. “Are you okay?” he demands. One of those things came after Cas? Dean shudders at the thought. He places a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, a comforting touch that turns into something more like a caress.

“I’m alright, Dean,” Castiel says softly. He holds Dean’s gaze until Dean nods his acceptance, finally pulling his hand away.

Rufus clears his throat behind them, and Dean flushes slightly. If there was any doubt in anyone’s mind that he and Cas are involved, so to speak, it’s gone now. 

Castiel joins the others at the table, and Dean follows him. “It climbed up the walls of the tower and came in through my bedchamber window,” he says flatly. “I managed to get it down here, then I pushed it out the window. It shattered when it hit the ground.”

Sam lets out a low whistle, and even Bobby looks impressed. “Not just a bookworm, then,” he says. 

“No,” Castiel says, a satisfied grin on his face, though it fades as he continues talking. “I was able to examine the pieces left behind. I believe that these are the same creatures that attacked your squad in the woods, Dean, and gave you the wound that brought you here. Their colouring would help them stay hidden among the trees, and the density of the skin explains why you had such difficulty landing a blow.”

Dean nods, thoughtful. “But how did they sneak up on us?” he asks. “And how did they make it past your perimeter spell?” 

“Perimeter spell?” Rufus asks, intrigued. “Boy, you’re almost as paranoid as me.” He says it like it’s a good thing.

“I prefer the term cautious,” Castiel replies. “And to answer your question, Dean, I believe I discovered their preferred method of travel as well. Outside the base of the tower, I found a patch of disturbed earth, and a large hole in the ground, connected to an underground tunnel.”

There’s a second of shocked silence as they all absorb what Castiel has told them. A tunnel? How are they supposed to fight an enemy that can move across the kingdom unseen? How can they predict where the next attack will fall?

“I don’t suppose you know how far it extends?” Sam asks hesitantly.

Castiel shakes his head. “I can’t leave the tower unattended for long,” he explains. “And I was not in the best health, following the attack. I fear I may have simply collapsed down there if I explored too far.”

Dean doesn’t like the sound of that, not one bit. “We’ll explore later today, after we’ve rested,” he says firmly. “If they’ve tunneled all the way from here to the capital…”

“They could be moving hundreds of these things without us even knowing,” Bobby finishes. “Well that’s just fantastic.”

Fantastic is one word for it. Dean looks uneasily out the window at the mountain range that separates Esporia from Infernia. How many of those freaky earth monster things could be crossing the border even now? Could there be other things coming with them? 

Thinking of Infernia reminds Dean of another matter. “Shit,” he swears under his breath. 

Sam hears him and leans forward. “What?” he asks eagerly.

Dean starts pacing up and down the length of the table, frustrated. “We sent Kevin and Linda into Infernia,” he reminds them. “Assuming that King Crowley keeps his word and they’re allowed to return unharmed, they’ll go back to the capital. I doubt he’s going to tell them that he’s attacked the city. They won’t know what they’re walking into. We don’t even know what they’ll be walking into.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow. “Send someone to intercept them at the pass,” he suggests. “Unless you think they’ll around be through the mountains, whoever you send can wait for them there and then guide them back here.”

It’s a good plan, Dean thinks to himself. There’s only one pass through the mountains, so it won’t be hard to find Kevin and Linda. And there should be two members of the Royal Guard already waiting at the pass to accompany them across Esporia. 

“Cas, you’re a genius,” he states, and is gratified to see the shy smile that his words bring to Castiel’s face. “I’ll send Jo and Victor after they get a good rest in today.”

Bobby nods his approval. “And when Linda and Kevin get back, they’ll give us an update on the situation in Infernia. Maybe they’ll have some information we can use to our advantage.”

Rufus snorts at that. “Sure, maybe they’ll sneak out with a detailed map of the tunnel system those scum have been digging across our kingdom.”

Dean sighs. “Calm down, guys,” he says wearily. “I know we’re all tired and worried and it’s making us irritable. But we’re doing the best that we can. We’ve got a plan, or as much of one as we can have, considering how little we know.”

“I know I’m not a fighter,” Sam says slowly, “but I think Dean’s right. The most important thing is keeping people safe. The king is here, and we can protect him. Hopefully most of the people got out of Veridia. So far, these attackers don’t seem particularly interested in killing anyone. Let’s hope it stays that way.”

“Indeed,” Castiel agrees. “I was watching the capital earlier this morning, before you arrived. No sign of movement anywhere. It looks practically abandoned.”

“The people are smart,” Bobby says. “They’ll find places to hide, other villages to take them in. If all they lose are their homes, we can rebuild.”

Dean looks around the room, so proud of what he sees on everyone’s faces. They’ve been attacked and forced out of their homes, and yet here they are, still holding true to their hope and also to one another. How could Dean do any less? It would be an insult to them. So he wills himself to stay strong, to stay positive. 

“I think we’ve said all that needs to be said,” he announces. “Unless anyone has any final thoughts?”

His question is met with silence, so he waves a hand at them lazily. “I suggest we all get some rest, then. Jo and Victor are still watching over the king. Take a short nap, and then--”

“I’ll relieve them, don’t worry,” Rufus interrupts. Dean nods. He knows how seriously the other man takes his position, and how much it must rankle not to be the one outside the king’s door even now. 

Bobby and Rufus leave the room with muttered farewells, but Sam lingers a moment longer. He keeps sneaking these little glances over at Dean and Castiel where they stand, not touching, but closer together than most friends would be. 

“You got something to say, just say it, Sammy,” Dean finally spits out, annoyed at his little brother’s hovering. He’s tense, unsure of his brother’s reaction. Sam’s never had a problem with who Dean has been involved with in the past, and he seemed supportive when Dean first admitted his whatever-this-is with Castiel, but the look on Sam’s face is making him nervous.

“Sorry,” Sam laughs, a bit sheepish. “I was going to say that there’s room in our tent for you, Dean, but then I realized that might be weird for you, and you’d probably rather be, umn, with…” he stumbles over the words, and Dean takes pity on him.

“Go get some sleep, Sam, you’re making even less sense than when you start quoting legal documents at me.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. “Okay. See you guys later.” He waves at them awkwardly, then retreats down the stairs.

Dean listens until he can no longer hear Sam’s footsteps, then he turns back to Castiel, who’s watching him calmly.

“If you’d rather stay with the others,” Castiel says hesitantly, but he stops when Dean shakes his head vigorously. “No?”

“I just want to be with you,” Dean blurts out, completely ungraceful and not caring one bit. It’s worth it for the way Castiel’s eyes widen, the way he bites his lip to try to hide his smile but can’t quite manage to do so. 

“To bed, then?” he asks, all hesitation gone from his voice.

“To bed,” Dean agrees. A small part of him would love to use this time to get reacquainted with Castiel’s body, to feel it pressed against his again, but he knows they both need sleep more than anything else. 

Castiel leads them upstairs to his bedchamber. The roof is still open, so the room is cool, but Dean knows it will be warm and cozy under the covers. He eagerly removes his shirt, tossing it aside carelessly, and grins over his shoulder at Castiel, who’s watching him with a little smirk on his face. Dean practically topples into the bed, burrowing under the covers, then pats them invitingly.

“Don’t leave me here alone,” he says, and while he means it as a joke, he’s pretty sure Castiel is clever enough to pick up on the sincerity in his statement. 

Castiel pulls his own shirt over his head, perhaps more slowly than necessary, letting Dean get a good look at his firm chest and those perfect hips. Then he joins Dean in the bed, pulling the covers over himself. Dean props himself up on one elbow and looks down at him, and in spite of the circumstances that brought him back here so soon, he can’t help but be happy to be here.

He leans down and kisses him softly, more tender than passionate, then pulls away. “We’re gonna be okay,” he says quietly.

Castiel’s mouth curves into a small smile. “Yes,” he says simply. Then he rolls over onto his side, facing away from Dean. Dean blinks, startled, and then gets the hint. He scoots closer and presses himself up against Castiel’s back, and the other man lets out a contented noise. Dean wraps one arm over his waist, adjusting his hold until they’re comfortably arranged around each other.

“Get some sleep, Cas,” he mumbles into the back of his neck. “We deserve it.”


	12. Chapter 12

It’s been a very long time since Castiel was around so many people, and while part of him is excited to hear so many different voices echoing through his tower, the rest of him is feeling more than a little overwhelmed.

There isn’t a single room large enough to hold all of them comfortably-- the tower simply wasn’t designed that way. So instead, they’re gathered outside, most of them sprawled inelegantly on the grass, though King Charles is seated on one of the chairs from the kitchen. Castiel is sitting cross-legged on the ground beside Dean, with Bobby on his other side. Rufus is in his tent, finally taking his turn to rest, satisfied that the king will come to no harm with all the others around him.

Jo and Victor have departed for the mountain pass that leads into Infernia. It’s less than two hours’ ride away, so Castiel is confident that they should arrive there in time to intercept the Trans on their way back into Esporia.

Which happens to be exactly what they’re discussing at the moment.

It’s Sam who brings it up, surprisingly. Though his background is in law rather than something more politically-leaning, he’s obviously highly intelligent, and well aware of the difficulty of the situation they find themselves in. 

“I hate to be the one to bring this up,” he says from where he’s seated beside Dean, Jess resting beside him. “But we’ve only planned for a scenario in which King Crowley lets Linda and Kevin come back to us.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Castiel sees Dean tense up at his brother’s words, so Castiel reaches out and brushes his hand against Dean’s ever so lightly, a silent show of support. Dean throws him a grateful look before replying.

“You really think he would break the treaty to respect ambassadors?”

Sam shrugs. “If he’s sending creatures made of earth and magic across the border via underground tunnels, we have to assume anything is possible at this point.”

King Charles clears his throat. “Sam’s right,” he says quietly. “I don’t like to think about it any more than the rest of you do. I allowed them to go. If they don’t come back…”

Castiel watches the play of emotions across the king’s face, and feels a healthy dose of sympathy for him. The king isn’t exactly what Castiel assumed he would be. He’s smaller, quieter, more anxious. But he’s also incredibly kind, and he’s holding it together remarkably well for someone who has just lost his palace and his capital city and may soon lose his crown. Castiel feels a fierce wave of protectiveness wash over him.

“So far, King Crowley seems to have been playing it safe,” he says, still working through his thoughts even as he voices them aloud. “While damage has been done to property and to livestock, very few lives have been lost.”

Dean nods along as Castiel speaks. “If he’s looking to conquer us because he’s sick of his own country, he may not have our utter destruction in mind,” Dean adds. “Maybe he just wants us scared enough to accept him, not completely cowed. If that’s the case, sending our ambassadors back would be a show of good faith. A way to appease us.”

“Commander Singer?” the king asks, turning to Bobby. “What are your thoughts on the matter?”

Bobby is quiet for a moment, obviously wanting to think things through before speaking. Castiel respects that about him. 

“I think even this conversation is a way for us to avoid the harder one,” he says slowly. “What are we going to do if the Trans do come back, and tell us we’re at war with Infernia?”

An uncomfortable silence falls over the group. Dean looks over at Castiel, who bites his lip and shakes his head. He has no ideas. He’s not a strategist. This is the Grey Tower, not the Red.

“Our goal has to be to keep as many people as safe as we can, for as long as we can,” Jess states simply. 

Castiel looks over at her, impressed. He hasn’t had much of an opportunity to speak to her yet. All he really knows is that she and Sam have only been married for about a week, and that she’s a healer. Apparently, she’s also compassionate, altruistic, and unafraid to give voice to her opinions. 

The king nods in agreement. “Well put,” he says. “We believe ourselves to be safe here, but how do we ensure the same for the rest of the kingdom?”

“I wish there was a way to communicate more easily,” Sam says, obviously frustrated. “Any messages we might send would take too long to reach their intended recipients, and we can’t guarantee that they would make it there unattacked.”

Dean nudges Castiel in the side and leans in to whisper to him. “This is probably a dumb question, but exactly how much power does the Wildlife Watcher have over animals?”

Castiel frowns at Dean in confusion. He isn’t sure what that has to with the discussion at hand. “Considerable power, but how is that relevant?”

Dean rolls his eyes and hastens to explain. “Okay, so you can get in touch with Gabriel, and he can enchant the birds or the squirrels or something to carry messages to the villages!”

It sounds ludicrous-- woodland creatures delivering the plans for the continued well-being of the kingdom? But then again, there’s a reason that the position of Wildlife Watcher exists in the first place. The kingdom is more than its territory, and more than its people. It may take the help of some unexpected allies to keep it safe.

“It could work,” Castiel admits. “ _Could_. But we still need to decide what message it is we’re going to pass along to the people.”

Dean grins at him, hopeful and excited. “Listen up,” he says, raising his voice so the rest of the group can hear him. “Me and Cas have a plan.”

“That’s encouraging,” Sam mutters under his breath, and Castiel fights to keep a grin off his face at the wounded expression Dean directs towards his brother.

“Please share, Captain Winchester,” King Charles says, ever gracious. 

Dean leans forward, using his hands for emphasis as he outlines his plan. “So Castiel is able to contact the other Watchers,” he explains. “He can send a message to Gabriel, the Wildlife Watcher, who can use his connection to the animals to have them deliver a message to the people. Whether it’s a plan or just something to tell them that their king is still thinking of them, it will help with morale.”

The king looks at Castiel, one eyebrow raised. “Is this possible?”

Castiel nods. “Yes, it’s possible.”

Bobby isn’t so easily convinced. “You realize how outlandish that sounds, right?”

Dean looks at Castiel, his eyes pleading. Castiel gets the sense that Bobby, and probably Sam as well, are used to entertaining Dean’s wild ideas. Which means Castiel has to be the voice of reason, the one whose expertise can convince them that Dean’s idea isn’t all that far-fetched.

Castiel sits up straighter, squaring his shoulders. “It does sound impossible,” he agrees. Dean makes an indignant noise from beside him, and Castiel holds up a hand to silence him. “But so does everything that I do on a daily basis. Remember that I knew you were coming because I set up a spell to warn me if anyone approached the tower. Remember that Dean was able to return to you after less than three full days despite his injury, because I was able to speed along his healing process. Magic is the impossible made real.”

He ends his impassioned speech and looks around at his audience. Dean is staring at him, mouth slightly parted, and the look in his eyes is equal parts awe and...desire? Dean sees Castiel looking and blushes, then turns away. Interesting. Castiel files his reaction away for a time that it can be explored properly. 

Bobby still looks grumpy and stoic, but Castiel is beginning to gather that his face has permanently settled that way, so he can’t be sure of his true feelings on the matter. Sam is smiling and nodding at him, and Jess shoots him an approving smile as well. 

Finally, Castiel dares to look at the king. His expression is pensive. “It’s a good plan,” he says eventually. “We need to be thinking of the people first. This is a way to let them know that they are not alone. And the order of the Watchers was created to ensure the stability of the kingdom. This is well within the responsibilities of the Green Tower.”

Castiel inclines his head respectfully. “I can contact Gabriel immediately,” he says. “What message shall he pass along to the people?”

Everyone seems to want to contribute something, and Castiel has to remind them several times to keep the message brief. 

“Alright,” he says wearily, once they’ve agreed. “I will go speak to Gabriel. Your Majesty, do you wish to accompany me?” He thinks it might be nice to the king to feel included in the proceedings, and yes, maybe a small part of him wants to show off, to prove to the king that he’s a valuable member of the kingdom’s system of defense.

But King Charles looks as though he’s ready to fall asleep once more. He barely manages to cover his yawn as he replies to Castiel. “I think perhaps I would like to get some more rest,” he says.

Castiel nods. “Of course,” he says. “Bobby, you and Benny stand guard.”

Bobby gives him a meaningful look, and Castiel flushes when he realizes he just attempted to give an order to the Commander of the Royal Guard. He starts to stammer out an apology, but he’s saved from his embarrassment when Bobby starts to laugh.

“The look on your face, boy,” he says, catching his breath. “I can see why Dean likes you so much.”

“Hey,” Dean protests, his own face going pink as well.

Bobby stands up, still chuckling, and gestures at Benny to do the same. “Let’s get the king settled in, and let these idjits figure out what they’re going to do with themselves.”

The others stand as well, and offer respectful wishes to the king for a good rest. He smiles tiredly at them, and allows Bobby and Benny to escort him back into the tower.

“I hope I haven’t offended him,” Castiel says worriedly, staring at them as they disappear inside. 

Dean and Sam both shake their heads, almost simultaneously. It’s charming, how in sync they are. “Nah,” Dean says easily. “Bobby doesn’t care much for pulling rank. He got where he is because he’s the best, but he never lets it go to his head.”

“Alright,” Castiel replies. “He made a good point, though. What will you do while I’m talking to Gabriel?”

Sam and Dean trade glances, and Sam nods firmly. “We’re going to explore that tunnel,” Dean announces. “Jess can wait for us up top, ready to run for help if she needs to. And we’ll have both of us in there in case something goes wrong.”

Logically, Castiel knows that it’s a good idea. They really do need to get a better sense of how far the tunnel extends, how many others it connects to. But he’s also worried about Dean, about what he might find in those tunnels. He bites his lips nervously, and Dean must notice, because he takes him by the elbow and steers him out of Sam and Jess’ hearing.

“You don’t think I should go.” Blunt as ever. 

Castiel shakes his head. “I know you should go,” he admits. “But I don’t want to think about what could be down there.”

Dean’s eyes soften, and he steps in closer. “I’ll be fine,” he says reassuringly. “Sam will be with me, and he’s almost as big as those things. First sign of real trouble, we’ll be back out of that hole in an instant, I promise.”

It’s strange, feeling so concerned over someone he’s only known for just over a week. And yet Castiel isn’t ashamed of the vulnerability that his feelings for Dean have prompted in him. It’s a lot to deal with, on top of everything else going on at the moment, but in a strange way, it’s grounding, to have such a natural human reaction to someone he cares about putting himself in danger.

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” he says, holding Dean’s gaze.

Dean looks back at him steadily, his eyes wide and green. “I promise.” Then he leans down and presses his lips to Castiel’s in a brief kiss before turning away and rejoining Sam and Jess. The trio rounds the corner of the tower, heading towards the entry to the tunnel, and Castiel is left alone.

He enters the tower with new determination, barely pausing on the stairs to nod at Benny, who’s standing guard outside the king’s chamber. He climbs up to the workroom and immediately activates the green-framed mirror that connect him to Gabriel. It isn’t long before the other Watcher’s face fills the mirror’s surface.

“Has something else happened?” Gabriel demands. “I haven’t been able to reach Michael.” His voice is sharp, but Castiel knows it’s only from concern.

“You could say that,” he replies with a slight laugh. “The king is safe, Gabriel. He’s actually here. With a small group of refugees from the capital, including some of the highest-ranked members of the Royal Guard.”

Gabriel just stares blankly at him for a moment before the flurry of questions begins. “How did they get there? Is the king hurt? What happened in the city? Why would they come to you?”

Castiel holds up a hand to cut him off. “The king is fine,” he says soothingly. “They know little more about what happened last night than we do, unfortunately. And as to why they came here, well-- perhaps you remember the unexpected guest I had last week?”

Gabriel frowns in confusion for a second before understanding dawns on his face. “The pretty guard!” he exclaims. 

Castiel groans at Gabriel’s description of Dean, but it isn’t inaccurate, just overly simplified. “Yes,” he says. “Dean brought the king here.” _Because he trusts me_ , Castiel reminds himself. _Because he believes that I can help them. So I will_.

“Good,” Gabriel says firmly. “You’ll look after them.”

“I certainly intend to, but we need something from you as well.” 

The change in Gabriel’s demeanour is instantaneous. “What can I do?” he asks, his very posture becoming more serious.

“It was Dean’s idea, really,” Castiel explains. “We need a way to keep in touch with the people. Setting fire to the capital ensured that we would be scattered, leaderless, that we would have difficulty establishing a chain of communication and command. So we want you to ask the birds to carry messages for us.”

“The birds,” Gabriel repeats slowly. “I mean, it’s possible, certainly, but that’s…”

“I know it’s unusual,” Castiel interrupts him, “but it’s the best idea we’ve come up with.”

“Alright,” Gabriel sighs. “What message do you want me to copy onto a hundred tiny pieces of parchment to attach to birds’ legs so they can fly throughout the kingdom to deliver it?” He grabs a piece of parchment and a quill, ready to copy down Castiel’s words.

Castiel smiles. He knew they could count on Gabriel’s support. “The king is alive and well,” he recites. “He wants you to be the same. Stay strong, for you are not forgotten.”

Gabriel squints at him. “That’s it? It’s nice, I guess, but it isn’t exactly a rousing call to arms.”

“These people aren’t fighters,” Castiel reminds him. “They’re scared citizens. We wish we had more to offer them, but at the moment, this is all we can give to them. We’ll request that you send further information as soon as we have it ourselves.” 

Gabriel shrugs. “Alright,” he drawls. “I’ll have my little birdies deliver this to all the towns and villages. What about those who may still be in the capital?”

“Send your birds there as well,” Castiel instructs him. “They will need the comfort more than anyone. And the message reveals nothing of the king’s whereabouts, so even if it falls into the wrong hands, we’re not putting him in danger.”

“He’s already in danger,” Gabriel mutters darkly. “We all are.”

Castiel can’t argue with that. “If you can see it done as speedily as possible…”

“Of course,” Gabriel replies. “I’ll get to it right now. Be watchful, Castiel.”

“Be watchful,” Castiel replies automatically, and then Gabriel is gone. 

Well, at least he’ll do as he’s been asked, Castiel thinks to himself. He wasn’t exactly encouraging about their plan, but he can’t really be blamed for that. They all wish they had more concrete information to give to the people, or more precise instructions. But they still know so little. 

They’ll just have to continue waiting, for now. They will wait, and hope that Kevin and Linda Tran make it back from Infernia unharmed, and hopefully bearing information that will help them reclaim the capital city.

And in the meantime, Sam and Dean are exploring the strange tunnel, putting themselves at risk to gather information that may prove invaluable in the coming days. Castiel is filled with admiration for them, and honoured to be standing at their side in this battle.

***

Dean stares down into the tunnel, trying to imagine the monstrous creature coming up through it and then scaling the wall of the Grey Tower. It’s an unpleasant train of thought, making him keenly aware of just how impressive the creatures are. They’ve been created for the purpose of conquest, and whoever is controlling them is doing a damn good job of using them to their best advantage. Frankly, it’s intimidating.

“You ready?” Sam asks, accepting the canteen of water that Jess hands to him. She offers one to Dean as well, who takes it with a grateful nod.

“Yep.” Dean’s lying, of course, but it doesn’t change the fact that they’re going to see this through. With a sigh, he carefully lowers himself into the hole in the ground.

Dean goes first, carrying a torch. He has a few spares tucked in the bag over his shoulder, just in case. Sam follows behind him, carrying parchment and quill so he can take notes along the way. His awareness of the serious of the situation is the only thing keeping his obvious enthusiasm under control. Nerd, Dean thinks fondly.

They’re heading steadily eastward in a straight line from the Grey Tower, and if Dean’s memory serves, they should soon be right up against the base of the mountains. The tunnel is dark and silent, and its smooth sides indicate to Dean that it wasn’t made by human hands alone. He’s certain that it was magically-created, and the thought makes him shiver. That much power, turned to evil purpose…

He’s so distracted that he almost walks right into the tunnel wall that looms suddenly in front of him. “Oh,” he says, “hold up, Sam.”

The tunnel takes a sharp turn to the left, which would lead it north. Dean frowns. He supposes there’s no real reason for an underground tunnel to follow the above-ground roads and paths, but the mountain pass into Infernia is south of the Grey Tower, not north. 

“Left turn up ahead,” he tells Sam. 

“North?” Sam asks, and Dean’s glad he isn’t the only one confused by the direction the tunnel takes. “That’s strange. Let’s see where it leads.”

They continue along the tunnel for some time. Dean guesses that they’re directly below the western foothills of the mountains, following the range northwards. After about half an hour’s walk, just as Dean is starting to wonder if they should turn back, the tunnel turns sharply to the left once more. 

“And now back west?” he wonders aloud. “Sam, is this making any sense to you?”

“None at all,” Sam replies. He sounds frustrated, and Dean isn’t surprised at that. Sam likes things to be logical, to follow set patterns-- it’s why the study of law appeals to him so much. This is too unpredictable, too messy for his sensitivities.

“We should stop here and rest before going any further.” They have no idea how much longer the tunnel will continue, and this is as good a place as any to take a break. Dean sits down carefully, but the ground is smooth and firm beneath him. No strange debris or jagged rocks litter its surface.

“So, Castiel seems nice,” Sam says. There’s the barest hint of mischief in his deliberately neutral tone.

It’s probably too dark for his brother to see it, but Dean directs an impressive glare his way. “Really, Sam?”

“Just making conversation.”

Dean sighs. “Yes, he is nice,” he says. “This wasn’t exactly how I wanted to see him again, but I can’t really complain.”

“Still, it must be good to be with him, in spite of all that’s happened. Everything’s such a mess right now,” Sam says, and his voice is more serious now. “I don’t know if most of my friends made it out of the city or not. I know you’re okay, and Jess, and Bobby, but other than that…”

Dean places a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Your friends are all ridiculously smart,” he says. “I’m sure they’ll be okay.”

This prompts a small laugh from Sam, which Dean counts as a victory. “Come on, let’s get back to it.”

They stand up and continue walking through the tunnel. Dean estimates that they’ve come about as far west now as they had originally walked east, so they would be level with the Grey Tower, just further north. “This doesn’t make any sense,” he complains.

“No, I know-- hey, Dean, look!” 

Dean peers into the gloom ahead of them, and sees what got Sam so excited: not far in front of them, there’s light spilling down into the tunnel. “Another exit,” he says. “Come on, let’s check it out.”

They boost each other out of the tunnel, and Dean frowns as he looks around. Something about this patch of forest looks strangely familiar…

“Sam,” he says slowly, “I think this is where the squad and I were attacked.”

“So Castiel was right. Those things are using the tunnels to get across the kingdom, and they were responsible for the attack on your squad.” Sam peers through the trees. “And this is probably how they got into Coldstream unnoticed as well. We’re close enough that at night, no one would have been able to see them coming, and they could have slipped back here and into the tunnel again, which is why no one caught them leaving either.”

“Great,” Dean mutters. “Giant earth monsters popping out of the ground wherever they want.” 

“It’s getting late,” Sam says uneasily, checking the position of the sun in the sky. “I think we should turn back.” 

Before we run into those things, Dean thinks to himself, and shudders. He does not want to encounter them while trapped in the tunnel. “We may as well travel back aboveground,” he says. “It’ll be quicker, and we won’t learn anything new by retracing our steps down there.”

Sam looks relieved at the suggestion, and Dean knows his thoughts had been following a similar path, wanting to avoid an encounter with the creatures below ground. And the path between Coldstream and the Grey Tower is much shorter on this diagonal than it was via the tunnel. 

That’s the part Dean can’t figure out. “So why does the tunnel go all the way to the mountains, then, if it isn’t going to cross under them?” he asks Sam. “And why doesn’t it just cut across from here to the tower rather than making that weird, long detour?” Sam’s the one who’s good with puzzles, maybe it will make more sense to him.

Sam shrugs. “Maybe it branches off further ahead,” he suggests. “So far we only explored one continuous line, but there could be more. And as for the route to the Grey Tower, maybe they knew about Castiel’s perimeter spell, and thought they could avoid it this way?”

It’s an interesting thought, but Dean shakes his head. “No, Cas’ spell is circular in its coverage. It would work no matter which angle you approach the tower from. They got around it by going underground. The spell isn’t set up to detect anything moving below ground.”

Sam shrugs again. “I wish I had better answers for you, Dean, but I’ve got just as much experience with this as you do, which is to say, exactly none.”

Dean moodily pushes a branch out of his way, though he could have just easily stepped to the side to avoid it hitting him in the face. He really wanted to get more concrete information to bring back to the others. So far, all he and Sam have done is provide proof of their running theory. The usual satisfaction that comes with being proven correct is lacking in this case.

He and Sam walk back to the Grey Tower in silence after that. They’re both tired, and Dean’s pretty sure his brother is just as disappointed as he is that they haven’t learned more from their underground expedition. The sun has nearly set by the time they arrive, but when the tower comes into sight, Dean feels his spirits begin to lift. 

Castiel is standing outside the tower, clearly waiting for them. Dean wonders how he knew when they could be back, and then remembers about the perimeter spell. “Hey,” he calls out. “Hope we didn’t give you too much of a scare when we set off the alarm.”

Castiel smiles ruefully at them. “Only a little,” he admits. “But I soon saw that it was you, and relaxed.”

As they approach, Sam claps Dean on the shoulder and nods at Castiel, then heads off in the direction of the tent he and Jess are sharing. He must be exhausted. 

And hungry. Dean’s stomach rumbles. “I don’t suppose you’ve got dinner ready and waiting?” he jokes.

Castiel rolls his eyes and beckons Dean inside, pulling the tower door shut behind them but not activating the locking spell. Makes sense. They can’t have the rest of the group being locked out of the tower in case something goes wrong.

The tower is quiet, and there’s a plate of cold meat and cheese sitting on the table beside a steaming cup of tea. Dean looks at it, then back at Castiel, who’s grinning at him, somehow both smug and excited. “Oh, honey, you shouldn’t have,” Dean says jokingly, batting his eyelashes at the other man, trying to use humour to cover up the terrifying amount of fondness he feels swelling in his chest. 

Castiel just pulls the chair out for Dean and waits patiently for him to sit down, then drops into his own chair, tugging it closer until their legs are pressed tightly against each other. “So, what did you find?” he asks. 

Dean takes a second to memorize this moment. It’s like every cozy domestic fantasy he’s ever had: someone to come home to, to share his day with. Having food ready and waiting doesn’t hurt, but Dean would be just as happy to have the opposite role in this situation as well, to be the one ready to greet Cas as he came home. He wants to believe that they can have this kind of evening again, but he knows better than to count on it, considering the circumstances. So he’ll be sure to enjoy it while it lasts. 

In between bites of his meal, Dean tells Castiel what he and Sam discovered. “So it’s just like you thought,” he concludes, draining the last of his tea. “They’re using the tunnels to get around, to Coldstream and to here.”

“And presumably all the way to the Veridia, with an exit at Fallowfield along the way,” Castiel muses. 

Dean wants to kiss that adorable little frown right off his face, but restrains himself. “That’s what we’re thinking, yeah. But if there’s a passage under the mountains and into Infernia, we didn’t find it.”

Castiel absently traces a pattern on Dean’s thigh, and he shivers under the touch. “That’s troubling,” he remarks.

“Yep.” Dean’s having difficulty focusing on their conversation as Castiel’s hand moves higher on his leg. “So, I don’t want to say it was pointless, but really, it was almost pointless. And now I’m all sweaty and dirty and tired for nothing.”

Castiel arches an eyebrow at him and stands up, indicating to Dean that he should do the same. Dean would have to be a very stupid man not to follow him, and he’s always prided himself on being clever, even if not book-smart the way Sam is.

Castiel leads Dean up the stairs to the bathing chamber. Obviously Dean’s used it before, but it feels different now. Castiel closes the door behind them and whispers something, making the door glow yellow before fading back to its normal colour.

“Locking spell?” Dean inquires, aiming for a casual tone and falling short. 

“Indeed,” Castiel murmurs, crossing back into the room. “I don’t wish to be disturbed. Do you?”

Dean is a lucky, lucky man. He shakes his head emphatically, and Castiel grins wickedly at him. “Why don’t you get yourself out of those filthy clothes, and I’ll get a bath ready.”

Dean is quick to obey, stripping off his tunic and trousers. It’s a bit chilly, standing naked in the centre of the room as Cas fills the tub with water that he warms with a spell, but Cas keeps sending him glances that are heated enough to warm Dean even from across the room. 

“Bath’s ready,” Castiel announces, and Dean is pleased to note that his voice is slightly unsteady. He walks over and climbs into the tub, letting out a moan of pleasure as he settles into the warm water. It feels incredible on his tired body. 

Castiel chuckles from behind him. “Better?”

“Much better,” Dean replies, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. A few seconds later, he feels the water sloshing around him, and opens them to see Castiel climbing into the tub with him. Even better yet.

“Turn around,” Castiel instructs him, and Dean complies. This is working out pretty well for him so far, so he sees no reason to question Castiel now. 

Castiel grabs a soft cloth from the shelf near the tub and begins using it to gently wash Dean’s back. He’s just firm enough with his movements to turn it almost into a massage, and Dean can feel himself turning to mush under the other man’s careful ministrations. Then Castiel moves to wash his hair, and Dean can’t stop himself from letting out a pleased sigh.

“Feels nice, doesn’t it,” Castiel laughs. “Relax, Dean. Let me take care of you.”

Dean waits until Cas’ hands are out of his hair, then turns around swiftly, and ignoring the startled look on Cas’ face, leans forward and kisses him soundly. Cas responds just as eagerly, crowding Dean up against the side of the tub and practically climbing into his lap. Dean growls his satisfaction and slides his hands down Castiel’s wet back, settling at his waist to hold them tightly together.

There are about a million other things they should probably be doing right now. But Dean can’t think of anything but the way Castiel feels against him, the way his mouth is slowly moving from Dean’s lips to his jaw, then trailing down his neck. “Cas,” he protests weakly. As much as he’s enjoying this, he also wants to be able to see Cas, and their current position isn’t well-suited to that.

Cas pulls back slightly. “Is everything okay?” he asks, concern in his eyes. 

Dean kisses him quickly to reassure him. “Yeah, everything’s fine,” he says, “but I kinda want to take my time with you, you know?”

It isn’t the end quite yet. They still have time. Time to get better acquainted with each other’s bodies, time to seek pleasure at their leisure. There will likely come a day, probably sometime soon, when they’ll be desperate and rushed, clinging to each other on what may be their last night on earth. But it is not yet that day. 

Castiel just laughs, pressing his forehead against Dean’s. “Are you sure?” he asks slyly, rocking his hips forward so Dean can feel his erection press against his thigh.

Dean groans. “You’re such a tease,” he whines.

“It’s only teasing if you have no intention of following through, and I can assure you, that isn’t the case,” Cas says. He takes pity on Dean and stands and climbs out of the tub, the water coursing over his naked body. Dean leans back against the tub and just stares.

There’s a small red line on Castiel’s thigh, probably from where the creature attacked him a few nights before. Dean frowns and leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss to it. He hears Castiel gasp above him, his hand slowly lowering to rest in Dean’s hair, which gives him all sorts of lovely ideas.

He gets out of the tub as well, and gently directs Castiel to the padded bench along the far wall of the bathing chamber, likely intended as a place to sit while getting dressed. Instead, Dean pushes at Castiel’s shoulders until he gets the hint and sits down, less graceful than usual. Ever so slowly, Dean lowers himself to his knees in front of him, loving the way Castiel’s breath hitches in his throat, the faint flush still staining his chest from the heat of the water. 

“Dean,” he says, his voice even lower and rougher than usual. Dean can feel himself hardening further just at that, just at the way Cas says his name. He looks up at him through his eyelashes, and deliberately holding his gaze, leans forward and licks a stripe along Castiel’s shaft. 

Castiel groans and brings his hands back to thread through Dean’s hair, not tightly, but just enough to be encouraging. Emboldened, Dean mouths along Castiel’s cock before finally taking him entirely into his mouth. 

It’s been awhile since Dean has done this, but he knows he’s good at it, and based on Castiel’s reactions, he hasn’t lost his touch. He braces his hands against Castiel’s muscular thighs and works him over with his lips and tongue, drawing the most gorgeous noises out of him. He pulls back for a second to breathe, and uses one hand to keep stroking him.

“You’re amazing,” Castiel murmurs, his hand sliding down from Dean’s hair to caress his cheek. “Dean…”

If he’s still that capable of forming words, obviously Dean isn’t working hard enough. He promptly takes Castiel back into his mouth, and gently cups his balls with one hand, relishing the low moan that Castiel lets out at the dual sensation. He’s breathing heavily now, and the hand still in Dean’s hair has tightened slightly.

“Dean,” he gasps out, “I’m going to come.”

Dean doesn’t pull back, instead drawing Castiel’s cock further into his mouth. With a cry, Castiel comes, spilling deep into Dean’s mouth. Dean continues to hold him there for a few seconds longer, and finally draws back, letting Castiel slip free. 

When he looks up at him, Castiel is staring at Dean like he’s a miracle, his eyes wide and his chest still heaving. He looks gorgeous like this. As much as Dean likes the sight of Castiel in his loose shirts and tight trousers moving through the tower or working a spell, there’s something special about the way he looks right now, naked and human, and yet so far from fragile.

Castiel reaches down and pulls Dean up and onto his lap. Dean goes willingly, sighing into Castiel’s mouth as he kisses him with fierce abandon. Dean’s neglected erection rubs against Castiel’s hip, and Cas reaches down and wraps a hand around him. Dean whines and bucks upwards, chasing the friction. He’s so close already, he knows it won’t take much for him to come.

Castiel is busy sucking a dark mark into Dean’s skin at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. There isn’t much room for two fully-grown men on the bench, so Dean braces himself with a hand on the wall behind them, giving himself the leverage he needs to rock into Castiel’s hand. He pants against the other man’s neck as Castiel increases the speed of his movements.

“Let go, Dean,” Castiel rasps out. “Let go.” He pulls back far enough to look Dean in the eye, and as he does, he twists his hand in a particular clever way that has Dean locking up in pleasure as he reaches orgasm, coming all over Castiel’s hand and both of their stomachs. 

Castiel strokes him through it, softly, until Dean whines, oversensitized, and sits back, putting a bit of distance between them. He drops his head onto Castiel’s shoulder and tries to catch his breath.

Castiel runs his clean hand down Dean’s back, soothing. “I think,” he says slowly, “we may need another bath.”


	13. Chapter 13

They spend the next day waiting. And, in Castiel’s case, watching. He only leaves his workroom for brief visits to check on the others, who are adapting to their strange situation remarkably well. 

The king spends most of his time in the library, and though there are still worry lines around his eyes, he looks far less tired than he did when they arrived. Castiel is pleased to think that he’s able to provide a place of refuge for his ruler in this difficult time. 

The others perform a variety of small tasks, from cooking to weapons training, keeping themselves occupied in both mind and body. It’s obvious that none of them are particularly accustomed to inaction, but they’re also all smart enough to know that this is not the time for attempts at heroism. There will be no running off to the capital to try to reclaim it in the king’s name, at least not until they know more about the events that prompted their hasty departure. 

Sam and Dean make another attempt at exploring the tunnel, this time riding to Coldstream and entering there, then continuing westwards. They report that it continues in a near-straight line, with no other exits that they could find in that limited period of time. It’s disappointing, but not entirely unexpected. They guessed that Fallowfield would be the next point of interest along the line, and it’s too far for the brothers to make the journey there and back on foot in a single day. 

And Dean-- while he remains with his friends and family throughout the day, he comes to Castiel that night, and they curl up together in his bed, holding each other until they’re able to fall asleep. It’s a blessing in this cursed time, and Castiel is incredibly grateful for it. 

The next morning dawns crisp and clear. Castiel shivers as he slides out of bed, smiling as he hears Dean grumble behind him. He puts on a robe and sits back down on the bed, amused by the way Dean has rolled himself into the blankets in Castiel’s absence, cocooning himself so tightly that it takes Castiel a moment to locate his face. 

“Time to get up,” he says softly, kissing Dean’s cheek. As much as he would love to laze around with Dean warm and sleepy beside him, they both have things to do today.

Dean opens his eyes slowly, and the small smile that creeps across his face as he looks up at Castiel makes his breath catch in his throat. How is it possible to have this, this indescribable connection, while the rest of the kingdom slowly falls apart? Maybe, Castiel reflects, it’s the thing that they both need to keep going through these dark days. 

Dean unravels himself from the blankets, flashes of his bare chest becoming visible until he finally sits up under Castiel’s admiring gaze. “Stop staring,” he laughs, but there’s no real annoyance in his tone. If anything, he sounds pleased. Vain man. But who could blame him? 

With great effort, Castiel stands back up and extends a hand to Dean. “Come along now,” he chides. He grabs Dean’s discarded shirt from the floor and tosses it at him. “Stop flaunting yourself and get dressed. I’m sure none of the others are as interested in seeing you half-naked as I am.”

Dean snorts, the noise muffled by the shirt he’s pulling over his head. “I’m afraid I have bad news for you, Cas. Other than maybe the king, pretty sure everyone else here has seen me without a shirt on at least once.”

Castiel can’t stop the small frown from appearing on his face, and Dean notices it as soon as his vision is unobstructed. “Are you jealous?” he asks, far too delighted at the idea.

“No,” Castiel says sulkily, crossing his arms over his chest. Just like a jealous lover would. He doesn’t know where this is coming from. He’s well aware that he’s not the only person Dean has been intimate with, and that’s never bothered him in the slightest. He’s also fairly certain that the context in which any of his other guests have seen Dean without his shirt was anything but sexual. 

“Hey,” Dean says, stepping forward and taking Cas’ face in his hands. “What’s going on?”

There’s genuine concern in his voice, and it reassures Cas somewhat. He hesitates, trying to find the right way to explain what he’s feeling. “It’s hard, sometimes,” he says haltingly, “being reminded of the way your life mostly takes places outside of this tower. I’ve loved getting to know your friends and family, but your closeness to them, it just makes me aware of how small a part of your life I am.”

They’ve only known each other for such a short time, after all. Dean has years of history with everyone else here, and maybe Castiel is the one he’s close with at the moment, but when you add up all the time they’ve spent together, it pales in comparison. Maybe jealousy isn’t the right word-- it’s more insecurity. 

“It doesn’t work like that,” Dean says firmly. “I’m capable of caring about more than one person, in more than one way.” He guides Castiel’s hands down, settling them over his heart. Castiel can feel it beating through the soft material of his shirt. “I’m comfortable with myself, and with all the other delightful folks who I dragged along to hide out here. But it’s different with you. You gotta know that.”

He looks so earnest that Castiel can’t help believing him. He knows Dean wouldn’t lie to him. And he knows he does care about him. He just worries about what that will mean for the two of them, if they make it through this war. But he should probably try to focus on that part first, the part about getting through the war. They can figure the rest out later. 

So he nods. “I know that now,” he says quietly. “And...you need to know that I feel the same.” He won’t say the word love, not yet. But he wants to acknowledge that this thing between them is more than just convenience, more than just attraction and a certain level of affection. It’s a more profound bond than that. 

Dean is leaning forward, and Castiel is tilting his face up, ready to be kissed quite thoroughly, when there’s a noise from the floor below. 

Dean freezes, his face turning grim. “Perimeter spell?” he guesses.

Castiel nods, already turning to race out of the room and down the stairs. Dean follows quickly at his heels. They burst into the workroom, and Castiel activates the mirror connected to the spell, hoping desperately that he won’t see an army of invading Infernians advancing on the tower.

Beside him, Dean lets out a sigh of relief. Riding up the road towards the Grey Tower is a small party, maybe half a dozen people mounted on horseback, four of them in the uniforms of the Royal Guard. The other two, Castiel guesses, must be Kevin and Linda Tran. 

“Looks like you’ve got even more guests,” Dean jokes. 

“Better more guests than any of the other possibilities running through my mind just then,” Castiel replies. “Shall we go down and greet them?”

Dean nods enthusiastically. “And inform the king on the way.”

They clamber noisily down the stairs, and when they reach the level of the king’s chamber, they find Benny standing guard outside. “Good morning,” he greets them. “What’s all the hurry?”

“Kevin and Linda are almost here,” Dean reports. “Is the king awake?”

Benny nods. “I think so. You go on ahead and receive the ambassadors, I’ll tell the king. I’m sure he’ll want to see them as soon as possible as well.”

“Definitely,” Dean agrees, and then they continue their way down the stairs, emerging into the bright morning sunlight. 

“I’m so glad they’re okay,” Dean admits. “I hoped they would be, but…”

Castiel doesn’t know the ambassadors at all, but he too is glad for their safety. He squeezes Dean’s hand reassuringly. “They looked unharmed,” he offers. “Maybe their mission was a success.”

“I hope so,” Dean replies. “The more information we can get, the better.”

Their voices must be enough to wake the others, because Sam and Jess emerge from their tent. Sam’s hair is endearingly disheveled, and Castiel chuckles as Jess attempts to smooth it for him. 

“What’s going on?” Sam asks, barely covering up a yawn.

“The ambassadors are almost back,” Dean informs him with a grin. 

Just then, Bobby pushes back the flap of his tent and joins them. “Good,” he says. “I was going mad with all this waiting.”

“Bobby is not the most patient person,” Sam whisper to Castiel, grinning conspiratorially. 

“I heard that,” Bobby says. 

Dean holds up a hand. “Quit it,” he says, “listen.”

The others fall silent, and soon enough, they hear hoofbeats approaching.

Castiel shifts his weight nervously from one foot to the other, until Dean calms him with a touch to his shoulder. He looks over at him and smiles slightly. “This is a good thing,” Dean reminds him.

The riders come to a halt, and Jo is the first to dismount, offering a quick salute to Bobby before throwing herself at Dean in a hug that looks more like a tackle. Victor follows, more reserved, but Castiel thinks he can see the relief on his face as well. 

The other two guards are introduced as Tamara and Isaac, a married couple who have been serving in the Guard for years. They nod respectfully at Castiel, and he returns the greeting.

Then he turns to the other two, who have been quiet up to this point. “Welcome to the Grey Tower,” he says. “Be at ease. The king will wish to see you shortly, to hear your report, and after that, you can rest.”

The woman he assumes is Linda shakes her head. “No time to rest,” she says. The others all snap to attention at her words. “I’ve been waiting to share the news with the king,” she continues. “These poor guards haven’t had their curiosity satisfied yet either.”

Castiel frowns. That sounds ominous. “Please, sit,” he says to the group, and they all make themselves as comfortable as possible on the grass.

Only a few minutes of strained silence pass before Benny walks out of the tower carrying a kitchen chair and deposits it on the ground. Rufus and the king follow behind him, King Charles taking the chair while Rufus joins the others on the grass.

“Linda,” the king says warmly. “And Kevin. I’m so glad to see you well.”

Mother and son incline their heads respectfully. “With your permission, we will make our report,” Linda says.

The king indicates that she should proceed with a wave of his hand. Castiel leans forward, and notices many of the others doing the same. It’s a tense moment, waiting to hear if their suspicions about King Crowley have been correct all along.

“I do not believe King Crowley is behind the attacks,” Linda says bluntly.

Castiel blinks in surprise. He’s thankful that she delivered her opinion on the matter immediately, sparing them any more uncertainty, but that was not the conclusion they thought their ambassadors would reach. 

King Charles looks troubled. “Please, explain.”

Linda trades a glance with her son before continuing. “We were received at court not by the king, but by his mother, the lady Rowena. The king was due back from a visit to another estate, but he had been delayed. When he finally arrived, we learned that there had been an attempt on his life, which had caused the delay.”

Dean lets out a whistle, interrupting the tale. “Sounds like they’ve got enough of a mess over there,” he comments.

Linda nods. “Precisely. King Crowley’s reign is being challenged by a woman named Abaddon, who has considerable magical talent. They’ve been fighting for some time, and this was not her first attempt at killing him. I gather it won’t be her last, either.”

“So basically, Crowley is too busy hanging on to his own kingdom to come after ours,” Bobby states.

“Couldn’t that be a contributing factor?” Isaac asks. “He’s having difficulty there, so he’s trying to take over our country instead, leave Infernia to Abaddon?”

Castiel nods. “I wouldn’t dismiss that possibility.”

Linda shakes her head. “No,” she says firmly. “I understand your reactions. I thought the same thing, at first. But the more we talked with Crowley, and with Rowena, the more obvious it became. He’s completely overwhelmed with the Abaddon situation, and with his mother, who recently returned to Infernia and is taking a more active role in running the kingdom.”

“Don’t sound so proud of her,” Kevin mutters under his breath. Castiel hears him, though, and raises an eyebrow, curious.

“Lady Rowena is a strong, intelligent woman who understands the challenges of raising a son on her own,” Linda says. Is that a faint flush on her cheeks? “She assured us that Infernia has no designs on our kingdom, and I trust her.”

Kevin mumbles something else, but he’s soon quelled by his mother’s sharp glare. Dean catches Castiel’s eye and smirks. There’s obviously more to this story than Linda is letting on, but for now, they have to stay focused. 

“Alright, I’ll bite,” Rufus announces. “If Infernia isn’t behind this, then who is?”

Silence falls over the assembled group. They all look lost in their thoughts, wracking their brains to try to come up with a plausible explanation. Infernia is the only kingdom that borders on their own. If they are not the enemy, then...that means the enemy is within Esporia. It’s a deeply disturbing thought, but it has to be considered.

“Cas, you said the creatures were made by magic,” Dean says eventually. “That they weren’t natural.”

“Yes,” Castiel agrees, and even as he says it, he begins to understand what Dean is implying. He can feel his own face going pale. “You can’t seriously believe…”

Dean looks apologetic for suggesting it, at least. “The only books of magic within Esporia are in the towers,” he points out softly. “So unless you think someone could have snuck in and stolen them…”

“Or been let in, by someone susceptible to a pretty face! I was weak enough to do so, maybe one of the others did as well!” Castiel lashes out. He regrets it immediately as he sees Dean’s face fall. He wishes there weren’t so many other people around so he could apologize properly, try to convince Dean that he didn’t mean it, that he spoke without thinking due to his distress. 

“Captain Winchester, are you suggesting that one of the Watchers is behind this scheme?” the king asks. He looks nearly as sick at the thought as Castiel does. 

“I don’t want to, sir,” Dean says, looking the king in the eyes. “But it’s the only other explanation that makes sense.”

“The boy’s right,” Bobby says, and Dean throws him a grateful look. Castiel keeps trying to catch his attention, but Dean refuses to look back at him. 

The king looks around the circle. “Anyone?” he asks, and Castiel can hear in his voice that he’s just waiting for someone to tell Dean that he’s wrong, that the Watchers protect the kingdom, that one of Esporia’s oldest institutions simply can’t be corrupt. 

But no one says anything.

Castiel’s mind is still racing with the possibilities of it all. He knows it isn’t his doing. And he’s spoken to the other Watchers so many times since that first meeting about the repeated warnings his mirror gave about the Great Falls. How could they have lied for so long? It would be near-impossible to keep up an innocent act all this time. And they all seemed so shocked when he described the creature to them after informing them that he had been attacked. 

Except...it hadn’t been all of them. Not at that meeting, and not at the first one either. One member of their order had been missing both times. 

Michael.

The Military Watcher, oldest and most honoured. Closest to the capital city, with the most access to the kind of magic that could be used to attack just as much as it could be used to defend. 

Castiel takes a deep breath. Once he voices his accusation out loud, he can never retract it. But nearly twenty years of watching and waiting and intervening when necessary has done wonders for his powers of intuition, and he knows when to trust his instincts. 

“Dean’s right,” he says. He sees Dean lift his head, finally meeting Castiel’s eyes, puzzled. Cas nods at him, hoping to convey his sincere apologies, before continuing. “I think the responsibility for these attacks lies with the Red Tower. With the Military Watcher. With Michael.”

***

Dean wasn’t expecting Castiel to be so easily convinced. He thought he would have to defend his position for longer. But Castiel says that he agrees with Dean, and goes one step further in identifying exactly which of his fellow Watchers is most likely to blame.

Dean would probably feel a lot better about the whole situation if Castiel didn’t look like his heart was breaking.

He’s already forgiven him for his nasty remark about pretty faces and letting people into the towers. Dean knows he was just thrown by the possibility of one of the Watchers going dark, and seeing the way he looks now, he suspects that this conversation will haunt Castiel for a long time to come. His whole world is crumbling down right now, and Dean wants nothing more than to comfort him, to steady him, to give him a steady foundation to build upon. 

But the kingdom comes first, as it always has. And as it always will. 

“Michael?” the king echoes. “Why would you say that, Castiel? Why him, over any of the others? Or all of them, for that matter?” He seems particularly upset at the suggestion that the Military Watcher is the one who has betrayed both king and country, and Dean supposes that makes sense. Until they came here, Michael was the only one of the Watchers that the king had actually met. It makes the whole situation far more personal, and far more painful for the king.

Castiel straightens up and explains his reasoning. “When I first began to notice something was wrong, it was because my mirrors kept showing me the Great Falls, even though I couldn’t see anything amiss. I called a meeting of the Watchers to discuss it, and Michael said he was too busy working another spell to participate. I didn’t question it at the time-- it’s rude to ask too many questions about another’s enchantments. I can’t help but wonder now if it was something to do with the creatures. And he was also suspiciously absent when I spoke to the others about my attack.”

King Charles frowns. “That’s very, very little to go on.”

Dean knows he has to speak up. “There’s more,” he says. “That first meeting we held, after I arrived back in the capital. Most of you were there. Remember how convinced Michael was that the attacks were coming from Infernia? The rest of us were just throwing around possibilities, but he made it sound like fact.”

“Deliberately misleading us,” Bobby says. He shakes his head slowly. “It’s a clever move.”

“And it fits with why there hasn’t been a great loss of life so far,” Sam adds. “A coup is different from an invasion in that way. Michael wants to rule, but to do so, he still needs people to rule over. He got you off the throne, physically speaking, and that was his main goal, not destroying the rest of the kingdom along the way.”

“But why!” the king exclaims, his fragile control over his emotions finally snapping. “Why would Michael betray me like this? And why now?”

Dean glances over at Castiel. Other than the king, he’s probably the one who knows Michael the best. Maybe he has some insights the others might not think of. 

“I wish I had an answer for you, your Majesty,” Castiel says. “But I don’t. It seems like the age-old story is playing out once again: a greedy desire for power, with little concern for how it affects everyone else.”

“How can we stop him?” Jess asks. “Can we stop him at all?”

Dean wishes he knew the answer to either of those questions. They don’t even know exactly what Michael is up to at the moment. Is he already installed in the palace, comfortable on the throne as he surveys the smoking wreckage of the capital city? Or is he still holed up in the Red Tower, brewing up some more awful magic to release upon them?

“You can’t see into the other towers without permission, can you?” he asks Castiel.

Castiel shakes his head. “Unfortunately, no. If I reached out to Michael, he would likely ignore it, as he has done before.”

Dean swears under his breath. They need to get an update on the situation in the capital so they can plan their next move. 

“Maybe he should have the throne,” the king says glumly. “He’s powerful, commanding. He has abilities I’ve never even dreamed of. And here I am, forced out of my own palace, my own city. I’m only king because my father was before me. Is that any more of a right than the right of force?”

Dean starts to speak, but he’s interrupted by Rufus. “Now don’t you start thinking that way,” he says. Dean is impressed with his daring, speaking to the king in such a tone. “You are a good ruler, sir. You care about the people. Michael has shown that he cares about nothing but himself and his own position. That right there tells me he isn’t worthy to wear the crown.”

There’s a chorus of enthusiastic agreement from the entire group. Dean is heartened by their support, and it seems that the king is as well, as he perks up slightly and the briefest hint of a smile flashes across his face. 

“This isn’t over yet,” Dean says firmly. He isn’t going to give up without a real fight. “In fact, it’s just beginning.”

“So, what next, chief?” Benny asks. “Do we round up the Guard, sound an attack?”

Dean hesitates, looking at Bobby and Rufus, but they both just look at him expectantly. Somehow, they’re deferring the important decision-making to him. It’s flattering, but Dean feels a tremendous amount of pressure to say the right thing. There’s a lot riding on him now. He can’t mess this up. 

“No, not yet.” Dean looks at the king, and sees him nod before he continues. “First, we need to be one hundred percent certain that Michael is behind this. I won’t take the risk of being misled again, and having us focus on the wrong person while someone else takes advantage of our distraction.”

“I agree,” Linda says, “but how do you suggest we do that?”

Kevin speaks up, his voice trembling slightly. He’s probably still a bit nervous voicing his opinions in front of all these important people. He’ll get over it soon, Dean thinks to himself. 

“Send someone back to the capital,” he suggests. “We can’t rely on messages and hunches. We need to be at the centre of the action, so to speak. It doesn’t matter who’s behind this, whether it’s Michael or someone else. We know they hit the capital hard, and if they’re not already establishing a base of power there now, they will be soon.”

Sam’s nodding along as Kevin speaks. Dean isn’t surprised-- those two have a lot in common. “If we can get there in time, we may be able to avoid outright battle. That’s our best option.”

“I don’t want to see any more people hurt,” the king says. “I am in favour of any plan that doesn’t require open war. We’ve never really been trained for it. We never thought we would need to be.” Dean can still hear the hurt over Michael’s betrayal in the king’s voice, but it’s beginning to galvanize him, rather than reduce him to inaction. Good. They could use some righteous anger right about now.

“So, who do we send?” Jo asks. “I’ll go. I’m good at sneaking around.” She flashes them a bright grin, and Dean’s never been prouder of her, her bravery and her spirit, unbeaten by the circumstances.

“We’ll all go, if that’s what’s best,” Victor adds. “Just give us something to do. Anything.”

“They’ll see you coming,” Castiel says. His voice is dull. “If it is Michael, he’ll be watching. He’ll see you coming from miles away, and he’ll send the creatures after you in full force. Make an example of you, scare the rest of the people into obedience. It won’t work.”

All of their faces fall as they absorb Castiel’s words. As the resident magical expert, he must know what he’s talking about. Dean tries to think of something encouraging to say to them, something to counteract Castiel’s statement, but nothing comes to mind. 

“So, what, we just hide here forever?” he snaps instead. “I know that’s your style, Cas, but the rest of us aren’t built that way.”

Castiel throws him a sharp look. “It’s not my style, it’s my job,” he practically hisses. “A word, if you will?”

Ignoring the way everyone else is staring at them, Dean stands up and stalks off around the base of the tower, Castiel following behind him. Once they’re out of sight and hopefully out of earshot of the others, Castiel lays into him. 

“You think you’re better than me because you can go chasing these things down with a sword?” he sneers. “Dean, I _saved_ you from them. Not just you, but the rest of your squad. I saved Fallowfield from their attack too. I--”

He’s still ranting, but Dean isn’t really paying attention to his words. He’s too busy thinking about the way this whole thing is tearing them apart, when just earlier that morning they were practically glowing with possibility. How have things fallen apart so quickly? 

“I’ve done everything that I can!” Castiel finishes angrily. His chest is heaving, and there are red blotches on his cheeks, flushed from his fury. He looks beautiful. Dean can’t stay mad at him, especially when he knows Cas isn’t really ranting at him either, he’s ranting against the unfairness of the whole mess. 

“I know,” he says, taking a step closer to Castiel. “I know, Cas.”

Castiel’s voice quiets. “I’ve done everything that I can,” he repeats, and it’s not angry this time, it’s disappointed. Disappointed in himself, if Dean’s guess is correct. “Why isn’t it enough?”

“It’s not your fault,” Dean states. He doesn’t like the expression on Cas’ face: twisted, self-loathing. 

Cas laughs bitterly. “I should have known,” he mutters under his breath. “Watch, wait, intervene when necessary. I waited too long. I watched the wrong places. And now it’s too late.”

“It is _not_ too late,” Dean replies sharply. Damn it, he needs to stop this train of thought before it goes too far. 

“Yes it is,” Castiel says, equally sharp. “This is all my fault.”

“Hey.” Dean grabs Castiel around the shoulders and gives him a little shake. “Buddy, snap out of this little pity party. We don’t have time for the blame game right now. You want to play it anyways? Okay, here goes. It’s Michael’s fault. No one else’s. He did this. And there’s nothing more you could have done to stop it.”

Castiel’s face softens, but it’s still upset. He moves closer, and Dean can’t deny him. He wraps Castiel in an embrace, offering him what comfort he can. “It’s okay,” he whispers, running his hand down the other man’s back. “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s going to be okay.” 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel mumbles from where his face is buried in the crook of Dean’s shoulder. “I have a tendency to shoulder more of a burden than I ought to. I’ve been rebuked for it before.”

Dean chuckles. “Yeah, I know the feeling,” he says wryly. “Look, we’re learning so much about each other.”

Castiel draws back and shoots him an unimpressed look. Dean just smiles and taps him lightly on the nose. “I’m not mad at you, Cas, and I’m pretty sure you’re not mad at me either. We’re just swinging at each other because we’re frustrated that we can’t swing at Michael.”

“I’m half-tempted to send a bolt of lightning directly at the Red Tower,” Castiel mutters darkly. “But I don’t want to hurt him. Even if he did try to kill me.”

Dean winces. He was sort of hoping Castiel wouldn’t put that together quite yet. It’s one thing to know that a friend has been plotting against the kingdom, but to realize that they’ve also made an attempt on your life…

“Cas,” he says weakly, but stops. What can he possibly say to make Castiel feel better about that?

“It’s alright, Dean,” Castiel says with a deep sigh. “I’m alright, and that’s what matters. I suppose I should be flattered that Michael was threatened enough by me to attempt to remove me from the board.”

“Well aren’t you the optimist,” Dean jokes. He’s treated to one of Castiel’s patented exaggerated eye-rolls, at least, so he thinks it was worth it. At least he’s not spiralling into guilt and blaming himself anymore. 

They should really be getting back to the others, but Dean figures they can wait a few more minutes. He leans in and kisses Cas the way he’s been wanting to since they were interrupted by the perimeter spell earlier that morning, deep and thorough.

Cas lets out a small noise of surprise, but quickly wraps his arms around Dean, backing him up against the solid stone wall of the tower. They pour all of their frustration, all of their passion into the kiss, mouths moving against each other hard enough to bruise, until they’re both gasping for air. 

Dean leans back, letting his head rest against the tower wall, while Cas presses light kisses across his face,which he cradles tenderly between his hands. Every kiss tells Dean something different-- _I’m sorry. I’m worried about you. I’m worried about all of us. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want you to lose me_.

“We should be getting back,” Dean sighs, but makes no moves to actually push Cas away.

Fortunately, Cas is strong enough for the both of them, and he steps back. “I really wish we were the kind of people who could just look at this and shrug, and hide ourselves away in the tower for the rest of our lives,” he comments.

Dean laughs. “Yeah, but I’d like you a whole lot less if you were that kind of person, and I bet you’d feel the same about me.”

“Sadly, this is true,” Castiel says, and they walk back around the tower to where the others are still sitting. Bobby gives them a stern look, but his eyes are soft, questioning. Dean nods at him, and he nods back. Bobby always has his best interests at heart. 

“I think we might have figured it out,” Sam tells them. “We use their own tricks against them. We use the tunnels.”

“You said it yourself, that’s how they were able to pass over the land unnoticed,” Jess continues. “We can sneak a small group back into the capital that way. Get a feel for what’s going on, and then plan our next move.”

“Cas?” Dean asks, turning to face him. “What do you think?” He really hopes this will work. They don’t seem to have many other options.

Castiel looks thoughtful. “It might work,” he says. “You’re correct that it will allow you to pass unnoticed in any of our mirrors. But there’s always the risk of encountering the creatures in the tunnels. In that confined space... It would be incredibly dangerous.”

Dean exchanges glances with his squad, who all nod at him, their faces serious. They’re prepared to take the risk, and so is he. 

“Okay,” he says, taking a deep breath. “I’m taking my squad, and we’re taking the tunnel towards the capital. If the tunnel runs out before we get there, well, we’ll figure it out after that.”

“I want to come,” Sam says immediately, but Dean shakes his head, cutting him off. 

“No, you have another job to do. I’m pretty sure Michael doesn’t know what you and Jess look like. You’re going to ride to the major villages, keep people calm, be ready if we call on you.”

“What about us?” Tamara asks. “We can come with you, too.”

Dean’s thought about this as well. “No,” he says. “You also need to ride. Find whatever other members of the Guard you can, and bring them back to the capital. Take Kevin and Linda with you. It will look like you’re returning from Infernia and protecting yourselves further on your journey back. They won’t make a move on such a large group.”

“But won’t Michael suspect something?” the king asks.

“I don’t believe he will,” Castiel replies. “Remember, he has no idea that you’re here. If he did, he would already have made an attempt at attacking us here. He will be looking for the king, but I imagine it would never cross his mind that you all escaped together and fled here. He may even think his assassin was successful and assume that I’m dead. He’ll never realize that I found the tunnel and alerted you to its presence, or that we’ve become aware of his treachery.”

“Castiel is right,” Dean says. “We have the element of surprise. Michael was counting on his attack creating confusion, which it has, but we’re going to work with it.”

“And what am I going to do while you’re off underground?” the king asks, though it sounds like he already suspects what the answer will be.

“Staying here,” Castiel tells him firmly. “It’s the most protected place we have. Bobby, Rufus, would you be willing to stay as well?”

“I’m not leaving the king,” Rufus says. “And Bobby gets nervous if we’re apart for too long, so I guess he’s staying too.”

Dean hides a smile behind his hand. “Well, looks like we’re settled, then,” he says. “Squad, pack up. We’re going on a little trip underground.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: minor character death at the very end. Not incredibly bloody, but it does happen on-page.

It’s now the second time Castiel has had to watch Dean ride away from him, and it isn’t any easier. _Three times makes it a tradition_ , Anna used to say. Castiel hopes that won’t be true in this case. He’s already tired of being the one to stay while Dean is the one to leave.

They’re in Castiel’s bedchamber, Dean packing up the last of his things, most of which are strewn haphazardly around the room. It starts to look empty as he picks up shirts and belts and socks from the ground and stuffs them into his worn leather bag. 

Castiel wants to stop him, to tell him that he doesn’t have to do this, but he knows Dean won’t listen. He’s made up his mind, and he won’t be swayed. So all Castiel can do is help him as much as possible.

Dean hums to himself as he packs. Castiel shakes his head in wonderment. “How are you so cheerful?” he asks incredulously. 

Dean turns to face him, a white cotton shirt still clutched in one hand. “What? Oh. I like having a task,” he says with a shrug, carelessly rolling up the shirt and adding it to his bag. “Something to work towards, you know.”

“Even something as dangerous as this?” Castiel certainly wouldn’t be thrilled at the prospect of an underground march across the kingdom. 

Dean shrugs again. “I joined the Guard to protect the kingdom,” he says. “So that’s what I’m going to do. If I think about it too much, I’ll lose my nerve. So I’ve got to just do it.”

Castiel supposes that makes a certain amount of sense, but he still worries. If Dean isn’t taking this seriously, he and his squad could be at risk. 

“I just want you to be careful,” he says after a pause, trying not to sound too overprotective.

Dean stops his packing and crosses the room to Castiel. He drops his head onto his shoulder and sags against him. Castiel is happy to bear his weight, happy to give him this moment of calm before the storm.

“Of course I’ll be careful,” he says, nuzzling against Castiel’s neck. “I told you the last time I had to leave you here-- I plan on coming back when this is all over.”

Castiel swallows roughly. Dean’s bold declarations have a way of leaving him feeling unhinged, but in the best possible sense of the word. “I plan on being here,” he says in response. 

Dean kisses him, brief but deep, and it’s a promise. Castiel returns the gesture. They have an understanding, then. 

After Dean is all packed, he casts a lingering glance around the chamber and gives Castiel a wry smile, then picks up his bag and heads for the stairs. Castiel follows him all the way down and out the tower door, where his squad is waiting for them. They’ve used the time to pack their things as well, weapons and supplies bundled up tightly in deceptively small packages.

“Is that going to be enough?” Jess asks, eyeing their packs. “You’ll need plenty of water down there.”

Victor nods. “We’ve got it under control,” he says. “We’re going to ride to Coldstream and enter the tunnel there, which will save us some time. After that, we’re pretty sure there’s an exit near Fallowfield. We’ll camp aboveground tonight, and then tomorrow, if the tunnel runs as straight as we predict, we should make it to the capital.”

Two days of tramping around below the surface. Castiel shudders at the thought. He’s lived most of his life in a stone tower stretching up towards the sky, with a roof that opens up to make him feel like he’s truly among the clouds. He does not envy the guards their journey. 

“We should get going,” Benny says gently, laying a hand on Dean’s shoulder. He gives Castiel an apologetic look, one that says he knows all too well the pain of leaving people behind. Castiel manages a nod of acknowledgement. 

The others take turns saying their goodbyes, and in spite of himself, Castiel has to smile when he sees the way Dean hugs Sam and then messes up his hair. 

Finally, Dean turns to Castiel. “I meant it,” he says quietly, his green eyes serious. “I’m coming back.”

Castiel steps forward and leans up to press a kiss to his cheek. “For luck,” he says. 

Dean’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles and returns the gesture. “For luck,” he echoes. “Be watchful, Cas.”

“Be watchful, Dean,” Castiel replies.

The king waits politely until their exchange is finished, then clears his throat. “Go with our blessing,” he says formally. 

The four riders salute him, their faces composed, and then mount their horses in unison.They ride away without looking back.

Castiel watches until he can no longer see them, then turns back to the others. “Well,” he says, striving to keep his voice steady, “we have work to do.”

Sam is the first to compose himself. “Right,” he says. “Jess, let’s get ready to move out. We have a lot of ground to cover as well.”

“As do we,” Isaac says, looking at his wife. She turns to Kevin and Linda. “I’m sorry you have to ride on again so soon,” she apologizes.

Linda scoffs. “We’ll be fine,” she says firmly. Castiel doesn’t doubt her. She’s more than proven that she’s capable of handling just about anything.

As they scatter to make their preparations, Castiel looks over at Bobby and Rufus. “I suppose we’ll be seeing quite a bit of each other over the next few days,” he says. “I admit, I’ll be glad of the company.”

“We’re here to protect the king, not to keep you company,” Rufus says bluntly.

Bobby smacks him sharply on the shoulder. “He takes his duty a bit too seriously sometimes,” he says to Castiel. “Don’t you worry, boy. We can manage to do both.”

Castiel is beginning to understand why Dean is so fond of Bobby. Beneath his gruffness, there’s clearly a great of care and concern, and now it’s apparently been extended to him as well. He’s grateful for it. 

There’s the sound of someone clearing their throat behind them, and Castiel turns to find the king smiling hesitantly at him. “How may I be of service, Your Majesty?” he asks quickly.

King Charles’ smile falters. “Please, the excessive formality makes me uncomfortable.”

“Very well. How may I be of service, sir?” Castiel tries again.

“Much better,” the king declares, a slight twinkle in his eyes. “Since I am to remain here for some time, I was wondering if perhaps you would be willing to show me your mirrors.”

Castiel is not expecting that question at all. He hesitates, and the king notices. 

“I understand that it is against the rules of your order,” he says, “but I also get the sense that you’ve broken those rules for Captain Winchester. I may not be as dashing as he is, but still…”

Castiel chuckles. “To be honest, I find myself wanting to toss out all of the rules of the Watchers,” he says. “They don’t seem to have worked in the ways they were meant to.”

“No,” the king says, nodding in agreement. “Which is partially why I asked this of you. Perhaps if I understood your magic better, I would have seen this coming.”

So Castiel and the king have this in common-- their tendency to blame themselves for things they cannot entirely control. But the king also has a point. There has been too much separation between the Watchers and the rest of the kingdom, including its rulers. Their isolation, combined with the trust that everyone places in them, is what allowed Michael to act without being suspected. 

“Yes,” Castiel tells the king. “I believe the others are nearly ready to depart. After that, I will show you my workroom.” It took a great deal of trust for the king to come here, and Castiel will return that trust now. He no longer cares about the rules of the Watchers. He knows there are far worse things than allowing the king of Esporia to see exactly how his own kingdom is kept safe.

“Wonderful,” the king says. He turns to address Isaac, who has been waiting respectfully for them to finish their conversation. “Safe travels, my friend.”

Isaac salutes him, and nods to Castiel. “We will find the others, sir. And we will prevail.”

“I have every confidence in the Guard,” the king says. “And in you both,” he adds, looking at Kevin and Linda. 

Their group departs, leaving just Sam and Jess. “Well,” Castiel says. “I wish you both safe travels.” He doesn’t know what else to say to them. Though they’ve only spent a brief time together, he’s grown fond of them both, and protective of them on Dean’s behalf.

Jess reaches out and sweeps him into a hug. “Take care, Castiel,” she says as she releases him. 

Sam settles for a firm handshake instead. “We’ll see you again soon, I’m sure of it.”

After saying their goodbyes to Rufus and Bobby, Sam and Jess mount their horses. The king raises a hand to wave them off, and then the four of them are the only ones left.

“I hope we’re doing the right thing,” the king says softly as he watches them ride away. “They are among the best and brightest of the kingdom. All of them. I don’t want to lose any of them.”

“Believe in them,” Bobby replies. “The way they believe in you.”

“I will try,” the king sighs. “Now, Castiel, you promised me magic.”

“Of course, sir,” Castiel says. He glances briefly at Bobby and Rufus. “Will you two be joining us?”

“I have no use for magic,” Rufus scoffs. “I’ll be on guard at the door, thank you very much.”

“Then I’ll take a nap,” Bobby says, rolling his neck from side to side. “There’s only two of us now, Rufus. That means longer guard shifts.”

“I can take shifts as well,” Castiel offers, but the king immediately shakes his head. “No, you have your own type of guarding to do,” he says.

That’s true enough. Castiel ushers them back inside the tower and this time, he activates the locking spell on the door. Now that their numbers are reduced, they can all stay within the tower, and the extra precaution makes him feel better about having fewer trained guards around to keep the king safe. 

Bobby leaves them at the king’s sleeping chamber, where a cot has been set up for the guards to rest. Castiel takes Rufus and the king two levels higher and into his workroom. The door hasn’t yet been repaired since the creature’s attack, and Rufus scowls when he sees it, taking up position with his back to the room.

Meanwhile, the king is examining the workroom with great interest. “I knew you use mirrors to communicate and to observe,” he says thoughtfully. “And I’ve used a simplified version of one myself, to talk to Michael at times when he couldn’t leave the tower. But I never expected there to be so many, somehow.”

“The more we can see, the more we can do,” Castiel says. Another of Anna’s favourite sayings. 

The king sends him a small smile. “I like that.”

Castiel lets him explore in peace for a few more minutes. He wonders if he should offer to perform a small spell, but he may as well allow the king to direct the flow of this inspection. 

The king pauses in front of the mirrors that connect Castiel to the other Watchers, and as he bends closer to examine them, the gold-framed mirror suddenly lights up, emitting a shrill noise.

“I didn’t touch it!” the king exclaims, and at any other time, Castiel would be amused by the king acting like a nervous schoolchild who got into something they shouldn’t have.

He joins the king in front of the mirror and presses his palm to its frame. Balthazar’s face appears in the smooth surface, and he opens his mouth to speak, but then he notices the second figure standing beside Castiel.

“Why,” he asks slowly, “is the king of Esporia in your tower, Castiel?”

Castiel sighs. “You’re aware of the situation in the capital, I assume?”

“Of course,” Balthazar says testily. “We’re all worrying ourselves sick over the state of affairs, and you’ve got the king hidden away in your tower? You should have told us, Castiel!”

In all honesty, Castiel had completely forgotten. Gabriel knew the situation, and somehow, in his mind, that meant that the others did as well. 

“I’ve been rather busy,” he says. “I do apologize, Balthazar.”

“Yes, well,” Balthazar says, sneaking glances towards the king. “I apologize for my outburst, Your Majesty. And may I say, I’m delighted to see that you are safe and unharmed.”

“Thank you,” the king says. “Balthazar...Agriculture Watcher. A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”

“Do you have news for us?” Castiel interrupts. There’s little time for pleasantries right now. 

Balthazar shakes his head. “No, I was hoping you did. I suppose the fact that king is alive and well counts, though.”

Castiel looks at the king. Technically, they do have other news-- their suspicion of Michael’s involvement in the attacks on the kingdom. The king spreads his hands, and his meaning is clear. It’s up to Castiel to decide if Balthazar can be trusted.

Castiel only thinks about it for a second. Though the thought of Michael’s betrayal still leaves him feeling sick, something about it also makes sense. The other Watchers, though-- Castiel is certain that they can be trusted. They would never be corrupted by their desire for power like Michael was. 

He takes a deep breath. “You’re not going to like it,” he warns.

“I don’t like much these days,” Balthazar replies. “Just tell me.”

“We think Michael is the one behind the attacks.” Castiel takes a second to watch as Balthazar’s face turns ashen. There’s no possible way that shock is anything but genuine. “Please, hear us out.”

“You can’t be serious,” Balthazar mutters. “Michael? But we’re sworn to protect the kingdom. We…” he swallows roughly. “What on earth led you to this conclusion, Castiel?”

The king steps forward and, to Castiel’s surprise, clearly outlines the reasons why they believe Michael is responsible. Castiel is grateful for the reprieve. As the king speaks, Balthazar’s face grows more distressed, but Castiel can see in his eyes that he believes them. There’s too much bitterness there for anything else. 

“I don’t want to accept it either, but I do,” the king concludes. “We need your support, Balthazar. Now more than ever.”

“Of course,” the other Watcher says immediately. “Of course, sir.” He falls silent again, his face clouded. Castiel assumes he’s playing over recent interactions with Michael in his mind, looking for signs that he missed. Suddenly Balthazar’s jaw drops. “He tried to kill you!” he exclaims, pointing at Castiel through the mirror.

Castiel winces. “Yes, well. I hope someday to hold him accountable for that. But his list of betrayals is far longer than that one act.”

“What can I do?” Balthazar asks. There’s a readiness in his posture that wasn’t there before, an obvious manifestation of his commitment to their cause. Castiel is glad to see it, glad to be reminded that the Watchers are not all corrupt and power-hungry.

“Tell Hannah, for a start,” Castiel suggests. “If she doesn’t believe you, have her contact me.”

“Oh, she’ll believe me,” Balthazar says around a dangerous grin. “We won’t let Michael get away with this.”

“I’m grateful for your support,” the king says. “And of course, I urge you to keep my presence here a secret. Only the other Watchers and a few trusted members of my Guard know my current location. To let that knowledge slip would be disastrous.”

Balthazar nods crisply. “I’ll await further instructions, then.”

“Thank you, Balthazar,” Castiel says, then severs the connection. 

He turns to face the king. “And there you have it,” he says with a semi-sarcastic little bow. “Magic, Your Majesty.”

“Very impressive,” the king says. “Of course, I knew that would be the case. But seeing what you do, how easily it comes to you...if Michael is truly using his own abilities with the intent to harm, how can we possibly stand against him?”

It’s a fair question, so Castiel weighs his answer carefully before replying. “We’ve done it before,” he says eventually. “I’ve done it before. I scared the creatures away from Captain Winchester and his squad when they were attacked in the woods by sending a bolt of lightning. I diverted the storm that Michael was summoning over Fallowfield. And I sent the rain that put out the fires in Veridia.”

The king twists his hands in his tunic nervously. “You think it will be enough?”

Castiel spreads his hands before him helplessly. “It will have to be enough,” he says. “And I’m not alone. The other three Watchers are with us. And all the others who rode out today. Don’t underestimate them simply because they have no magic. Magic helps, certainly, but it isn’t the only strength in this world.”

“I pray that you’re right,” the king says, quiet but fervent.

Castiel does too.

***

They’ve been underground for nearly two hours, and Dean is already sick of it.

It’s damp and dark and cramped in the tunnel, and while he already knew that was the case from his earlier explorations with Sam, it’s somehow even worse with so many extra people. They travel single file, Dean taking the lead. He carries a torch, and so does Benny, so that they’re evenly spaced out down the line. They walk mostly in silence, trying to conserve energy and oxygen. 

It’s a grim march into near-certain danger, and Dean hates every second of it. It takes all of his strength of will to keep putting one foot in front of the other, to keep trudging forward into the vast darkness that looms ahead of him. 

But he volunteered for this mission. He chose this. Because he knows it’s important. And so he’ll see it through to the end. 

The one good thing is that the tunnel does seem to continue in a straight line. From what he can tell, they’re still moving steadily west. They haven’t spotted any exits yet, but there isn’t much in this area of the kingdom, even above ground. 

“We must be getting close,” Jo pipes up some time later, breaking the silence. “We can’t be too far from Fallowfield now.”

“I think you’re right,” Victor agrees. “Keep a careful lookout there, Captain. Hopefully we’ll get some fresh air soon enough.”

“Hopefully,” Benny repeats. 

Dean feels his spirits lift at his squad’s optimism. Their outlook is infectious. Surely Jo is right. It can’t be too much further now. 

So of course, it’s another hour before Dean feels it-- the slightest hint of a breeze. He closes his eyes for a second, overwhelmed with gratitude. “Hey, guys,” he says. “I think we’re almost there.”

“Oh thank goodness,” Jo says wearily.

Soon enough, Dean sees a faint light ahead of them. A few more steps and they find the slanting offshoot of the tunnel that leads upwards, and they follow it out into the cool late evening air. 

There’s no indication that they’re actually near Fallowfield. The tunnel led them to an unremarkable patch of forest, with no identifying landmarks. Dean considers scouting ahead to get a sense of their location, but ultimately decides it would be a waste of their time and energy. They know how far they’ve travelled, and it matches up fairly well with their guess of where they would emerge from the tunnel. That’s good enough for him.

Victor throws himself down onto the grass dramatically. “Never thought I’d be so happy to be outside again,” he says, his face pressed against the ground.

Ever practical, Benny is already at work building a small fire, both for the warmth and for cooking purposes. Jo and Dean set about preparing the camp, and within half an hour, they’re gathered around the small fire, eating a late meal.

They’re still unusually quiet. Dean knows that they’re all distracted with thoughts of the million ways that this mission could go wrong, but it’s starting to freak him out a little bit. This isn’t their usual routine.

He knows he has to be the one to set the tone. They take their cues from him. So he clears his throat loudly enough to get their attention. “Look, this sucks,” he says bluntly. “I’m not going to try to pretend that it doesn’t. But we gotta keep our spirits up, or we’ll be halfway to losing already.”

“Captain’s got a point,” Benny says, chewing thoughtfully at the last of his meal. “All these attacks, they did more damage to everyone’s morale than they did to our bodies.”

“Exactly,” Dean says. “Michael wants us disheartened. Scattered, divided. Because that’s how he steps in and takes over, convincing us that he’s the strong leader we think we need. But that isn’t true.”

“We have our own strength,” Jo says. “And we have each other.”

There are nods all around. _That’s better_ , Dean thinks to himself. In all honesty, he’s trying to convince himself as much as he’s trying to convince them. They build off each other, encourage each other, support each other. It’s what a good team does, and Dean has always known that his squad makes an excellent team.

“So, what? We should sing a rousing marching song as we tramp through that damn tunnel again tomorrow?” Victor asks. Jo throws something at him, and he bats it away lazily. Dean grins at their antics. 

He pretends to actually consider Victor’s suggestion. “I think, sadly, that would ruin the whole stealthy silence we’re trying to go for,” he says, faking regret. 

“Shame,” Benny says, shaking his head sadly. “I know a good one about leaving your lover behind that you’d sing right pretty for us, Captain.”

Dean can handle their teasing. It’s what he’s used to, after all. “You can teach me the words and I’ll sing it in my head, and the rest of you will just have to use your imaginations,” he offers. 

Jo makes a disgusted noise. “And think about you and Castiel the whole time? No thank you.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Dean says wickedly. “I think everyone deserves to know about this one thing he does with his tongue--”

The rest of his words are cut off as something soft flies across the fire and smacks him in the face. Laughing, Dean pulls it away and sees that it’s one of their camp blankets. “Oh, thanks!” he says with great delight. “Now I’m sure to be warm enough tonight.”

There’s a second of silence, and then he hears Victor swear quietly under his breath. Culprit identified. Dean takes pity on him and throws the blanket back across the fire to him. “Nah, you can have it, I guess. You all deserve a good night’s sleep after the day we had.”

“You do too,” Jo reminds him. “Don’t even think about taking a longer watch than normal.”

He knows she probably can’t see it, but he glares at her anyways. He had been thinking of staying up longer, just to give them more time to rest. But they know him too well, and they won’t let him get away with that kind of move. 

“Alright, alright,” he says with a sigh. “Normal patterns, then. Now get some sleep, all of you. That’s an order.”

“Goodnight, chief,” Benny says, dropping a hand on his shoulder as he passes Dean to stretch out on the other side of the fire. Victor and Jo echo him, and within minutes, the campsite is filled with the soft sounds of their even breathing. And Jo’s snores.

He spends his watch staring moodily out into the dark forest around them, alert to his surroundings and yet far away in his mind. The time passes surprisingly quickly, and soon enough he’s waking Jo to take her turn. He wraps himself in his blanket and falls asleep quickly, too exhausted to care about the hard ground beneath him and how different it feels from Castiel’s soft feather bed.

Victor wakes them all in the morning, and they pack their things quickly. Dean isn’t thrilled to be going back underground, but the sooner they get started, the sooner they’ll be out of there again. Jo and Victor make a brief trip to the nearby stream to fill their water canteens, and then there are no more reasons to delay. 

“Well, here we go again,” Dean says dully as he leads them back into the tunnel.

“You sure about the singing?” Benny asks. It startles a chuckle out of Dean, who had mostly forgotten about that conversation. 

“Tell you what,” he says. “You can teach it to me after we get through this, and we’ll sing it as often as you like.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Benny warns him. Dean throws him a half-salute, and then they’re swallowed up by the earth as they leave the daylight behind them.

Dean estimates that they have almost as much distance to cover today as they did the day before, though they’re getting a much earlier start this morning. If all goes according to plan, they should reach the capital just after noon. Of course, they don’t know precisely where the tunnel will lead them. It would actually make sense for there to be several branches near Veridia, one that leads into the city proper and one that leads to the Red Tower. 

Dean is proven correct when, a few hours later, he sees a patch of light appear ahead of them. “Be on your guard,” he warns the others. If they’re going to encounter the enemy, this is the most likely place for that meeting to take place. 

They follow the exit tunnel cautiously, and just as Dean suspected, it brings them to a patch of ground outside the city walls, right by one of the smaller gates. “Feels good to be home,” Victor says, patting the stone wall.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Dean says. “We know this path leads us here. But we ought to explore a bit further along, see if there are any more entrances. The more complete a picture we have of the enemy’s system, the better prepared we’ll be for their attacks.”

Jo groans, but she follows Dean back underground without hesitation. “I knew it was too good to be true,” she complains. 

“Shh,” Dean says softly. “We travel quiet from here on out. Hopefully our passage will go unnoticed.”

They continue in silence for about half an hour, by Dean’s guess. As they walk, it seems as though the tunnel is widening. It’s a nice reprieve from the cramped feeling they’ve been dealing with up to this point, but it doesn’t bring Dean any comfort. The only reason for a tunnel to widen is because it’s leading towards something.

Just a few minutes later, they find out what that something is. The tunnel widens out into a large cavern, filled with stalactites and stalagmites and small pools of crystal-clear water. It’s beautiful and eerie at the same time, the sound of water dripping from the rocks echoing all around them. 

Dean holds a finger to his lips, reminding them all to stay quiet. He’s heard that there are caves like this near the capital. Specifically, near the Great Falls. But Dean has always preferred their own dramatic beauty and never gone exploring below them. 

If these are those caves… maybe that’s why Castiel’s mirror kept showing him the Great Falls, even when he couldn’t see anything wrong in the area. The spell must have sensed that the area was being used for some nefarious purpose, but since it was unable to show the Watchers what was happening below ground, it looked like the mirror was malfunctioning. 

But what exactly has been happening here, Dean wonders. What purpose do these large caves serve? They walk quietly through the area, avoiding the pools of water at their feet, dodging the rocky outcrops all around them. On the other side of the open area is another tunnel, and they return to walking single file as they enter it.

It’s barely a minute before the tunnel begins to widen again, and they find themselves in another open area. But this one is different-- it looks more like the tunnel, more sculpted and less natural than the area they just traversed. Dean frowns, trying to put the pieces together, and then comes to a sudden stop, his hand flying up in a signal to the others to do the same.

Just in front of them, stretched out along a shelf-like protrusion from the earthen wall, is one of the creatures that attacked the capital. That attacked Castiel in the Grey Tower.

Dean holds his breath, his hand going to his sword. He feels the others tense behind him as they take notice, but the creature doesn’t move. It almost looks like it’s sleeping. But would beings made of earth and magic even need to sleep?

Greatly daring, Dean steps past the creature and further into the cave. There are more of them, in the same position as the first. They look like part of the earth itself, like this is some sort of home for them. Dean’s lip curls upwards in disgust. He wants to get out of here. The sight of these things makes him feel nauseous. 

They make it out of that chamber without incident, fortunately, and soon enough the tunnel begins to slant upwards. Dean looks back at his squad and places his hand meaningfully on his hip, indicating that they should be ready to draw weapons. There’s no other way to go from here, so they follow the tunnel as it climbs towards the surface.

They emerge into the early afternoon sunlight at the base of a red stone tower, and Dean’s heart sinks. What more confirmation could they possibly require that Michael is the one who is controlling the creatures? Usually, Dean enjoys the feeling of being proven correct, but in this case, it’s a hollow victory. 

He pushes away his thoughts of what Castiel’s reaction to this sight would be, and beckons his squad further. They make a slow prowl around the base of the tower, but there’s no evidence that either Michael or any of his magical creatures are nearby. Unlike Cas, maybe he’s too overconfident in his own power to bother with a perimeter spell. It works to their advantage, though, so Dean doesn’t mind that one bit. 

The area seems clear, so he risks a low whisper. “Well, I think we have our answer about Michael’s involvement,” he says as the other crowd around him. 

Victor shakes his head, a disgusted look on his face. “What was that back there, with those things in the cave? Were they sleeping?”

“Inactive, probably,” Jo guesses. “That must be where he keeps them hidden, ready and waiting until he gives them their orders.”

“Felt like the world’s creepiest nursery,” Dean says with a shudder. “But better them like that than a group of them awake and swinging at us, I guess.”

“So, where do we go from here?” Benny asks, and that’s the the big question. Dean chews his lip as he thinks it over.

They should probably take the tunnel back to the city walls. It will allow them to pass over the area unseen. But he also doesn’t want to risk sneaking past the creatures again. They appeared to have no awareness of the trespassers in their midst, but that could change in an instant, and Dean would really rather not be trapped down there if they all woke up at once.

He’s about to pose the question back to them, let them weigh in with their opinions, when he catches sight of movement out of the corner of his eye. Dean whirls around, his heart pounding, and sees one of the creatures rounding the tower towards them.

He has no idea where it came from, but all he can think is how badly he hopes there’s only the one of them. He hears the rasp of steel as the others draw their weapons. “Get your backs together,” he tells them, his voice tight. “Our swords won’t be much good. We have to smash it somehow.”

He looks around desperately as the thing advances on them, searching for something they can use with enough blunt force to break it to pieces. There are no stones on the ground nearby, and Dean curses under his breath. The thing is almost upon them. 

“Can we run?” Victor asks, and his voice is steady. Dean is so proud to stand with them. Their bravery inspires his own. 

“I don’t know,” he admits. “We’re probably faster, but we’ll also probably tire before it does. I don’t think it needs to breathe.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’d like some payback,” Jo says with a snarl. “I’m not running.”

Well, that’s decided then. They’ll stand and fight. They just have to find a way to be smart about it. 

The creature has a short, rusty-looking sword clenched in one large fist. It would be dangerous enough on its own, but the weapon makes it even harder for them to get close enough to make the kind of move they need to make in order to stop it. They need something hard, something solid…

Dean looks at the walls of the tower. They’re made of solid stone. If they can somehow get the thing close enough, could they push it into the wall with enough force to break it apart? It’s their best option, so they’re going to have to try.

“Jo, you’re the quickest,” he says, keeping his eyes fixed on the creature. “Think you can disarm it?”

She looks at it, a calculating gleam in her eyes, and nods once. Then she runs right at it.

The creature seems surprised, coming to a halt as Jo charges it. She swings her sword at its face, confusing it, then swoops down and pries its blade out of its hand, tossing it aside before dashing back to join the others.

“Good work,” Dean tells her, clapping her on the back with his free hand. “Okay, one less thing to worry about.”

The creature steps towards them, then to the side, its head moving back and forth. Probably searching for the blade.

“It’s distracted,” Benny murmurs. “Now, Captain?”

“Now,” Dean says with a sharp nod.

All four of them rush at the thing, using their combined body weight to propel it backwards until it meets the wall of the Red Tower with a sickening thunk. But no cracks appear on its earthen skin. 

Dean swears, leaping back to avoid being hit by one of its wildly swinging fists. They have the thing in the best position, now they just have to keep it there. “Take its arms,” he grunts out, dodging another blow. “Try to keep them still.”

Benny takes one side while Jo and Victor take the other. The thing struggles in their grasp, but they seem to have it pinned, at least for now. Dean gets as close as he can, and gets a grip on the thing’s head with both hands. Then he slams it back against the wall of the tower as hard as he can. 

It’s unnerving, how quiet it is, other than the sound of stone striking stone. The thing has no mouth, and it makes no noise, reminding Dean how unnatural it really is. It’s easier for him to repeat his movement this way though. It keeps him detached from the situation.

After the second hit, a crack appears on the back of the creature’s head, and it struggles against their hold with renewed intensity. Dean grabs it by the head once more and summons all of his strength, cracking its head into the wall of the tower for a third time.

As he does, the creature’s left arm slips free of Benny’s grasp, and in that instant, it closes around his throat. Benny lets out a strangled gasp, and the snap of his neck is lost in the sound of the creature’s head shattering into pieces from Dean’s final blow. 

Benny’s body slumps to the ground, lifeless. Dean drops to his knees beside him, stunned. It was all over so fast-- he checks for a pulse, but finds none. He barely spaces a glance at the body of the creature beside them, unable to focus on anything other than Benny.

His best friend. A constant companion since the day he first joined the Guard. A solid, steady presence by Dean’s side over the years. And just like that, he’s gone. 

“Dean, we gotta go,” he hears Jo saying. Her words are muffled by the ringing in Dean’s ears, but he feels her small hand slipping into his, pulling him to his feet. “More of those things might be coming. We have to go now.”

Dean swallows roughly. He knows they’re right. He presses his hand to Benny’s chest, then passes it over his face, closing his eyes. He looks like he could be sleeping.

“Captain,” Victor says. “ _Dean_.”

The urgency in his voice shakes Dean out of his stupor, and with a final look at Benny’s body, so small in death, they take off at a run, leaving the Red Tower behind them.


	15. Chapter 15

It’s mid-morning on the day after most of his temporary guests left the Grey Tower, and Castiel finds himself wishing they would come back, just to distract him from his thoughts.

Or, if he’s being honest with himself, he wishes Dean would come back, victorious and exultant and _alive_. Not being able to communicate with him is a particularly painful form of torture for Castiel. He just wants to know that Dean is okay. 

Castiel is on his way down to the kitchen in search of another cup of tea when he hears one of his mirrors go off. He races back up the stairs to his workroom, but skids to a stop when he realizes it’s the red-framed mirror that connects him to the Red Tower that is making the noise. He had dismissed the idea of contacting Michael, assuming that the other Watcher wouldn’t accept his attempts at communication if he was indeed behind the attacks. Never would Castiel have guessed that Michael would be the one to reach out.

He stands in front of the mirror for a moment, wavering, and then hurriedly opens a link to the other three mirrors, hoping that Gabriel, Hannah, and Balthazar are available. Fortunately, their faces fill the frames quickly.

“Michael is attempting to contact me,” he rushes to say before they can distract him. “Should I answer?”

Hannah pauses, obviously thinking it through, but both Gabriel and Balthazar do not hesitate. “Yes,” Gabriel says firmly, Balthazar repeating the sentiment just half a second later.

Castiel looks at Hannah, and she nods, resigned. “We may as well hear what he has to say,” she comments. 

Castiel takes a deep breath and finally presses a palm to the red-framed mirror. Michael’s face appears on its shimmering surface, and Castiel holds back a shudder. This is the man who tried to have him killed. Who had several villages and cities attacked. Who had a squad of the Royal Guard attacked. Who betrayed his king, his kingdom, his vocation.

“Castiel! Finally,” Michael says. “I was beginning to worry about you.”

Worry about me finding out your secret, perhaps, Castiel thinks to himself. Why else would Michael have tried to assassinate him? 

“I was contacting the others,” Castiel replies smoothly. “My apologies. There has been so much confusion lately, I thought it best if we all spoke at the same time.” 

He catches the other Watchers’ eyes, and they all nod. He knows they will all reach out to Michael now, and he’ll have no choice but to accept their efforts. If he thought somehow he could isolate Castiel, he was wrong. They will stand united against him.

There’s a pause before Michael replies. “Excellent idea,” he says, and though his voice is controlled, Castiel thinks he can hear the slightest note of strain it it. Good. Let him feel the pressure. 

“Now that we’re all here,” Castiel says, with a grin that shows more of his teeth than usual, “was there something in particular that you wanted to discuss, Michael?”

“The king is still missing,” Michael says, his usual smoothness back in place. “I had hoped perhaps one of you might have have seen something, some indication of his whereabouts or company, in one of the mirrors that you alone have access to.”

Much to Castiel’s surprise, Hannah is the first to respond. “No, sadly,” she says, shaking her head. “I have seen nothing.”

“Nothing from me either,” Gabriel says. “Though most of my duty-specific mirrors are on isolated areas that only the animals visit, so it seems unlikely we’ll find the king there.”

Castiel almost laughs, but manages to restrain himself. They’re all playing their parts perfectly. “I wish I had a different answer, but no,” he says. “Balthazar?”

“Nothing,” Balthazar says simply, spreading his hands in an expressive gesture of emptiness. 

Michael frowns at them. “This is troubling news,” he says. “I am greatly concerned for his safety.”

“Of course,” Hannah says soothingly. “We all are.”

“I have, however, seen that the ambassadors to Infernia are on their way back to the capital,” Michael continues. “I am pleased that King Crowley has upheld the treaty and let them pass unharmed, despite his continued attacks on our kingdom and our people.”

How can he stand there and lie to them to so easily? Castiel supposes he and the other three Watchers are lying as well, not letting Michael know that they’re aware of his treachery, but it still upsets him to see how naturally this deceit seems to come to the Military Watcher. How long, he wonders, has this been Michael’s plan? How long has he dreamed of this moment? How long has it been since he fell victim to greed and the lust for the power?

“That is good news!” Gabriel says excitedly. “And surely their reports will help us to clarify the situation.”

“Precisely,” Michael says, smiling at Gabriel as though he’s a child who has just learned to say a new word. Castiel used to be amused by Michael’s slightly condescending air, but now it enrages him. How dare he act as though he’s better than them, when he is knowingly betraying all that they stand for. 

“I will meet with them when they arrive,” Michael adds. “To hear their report, and to determine the best course of action.”

Balthazar raises his eyebrows at this statement. “You’ll bring them to the Red Tower?” he asks.

Michael pauses, then chuckles. “No, that seems unwise,” he replies. “I’ll receive them at the palace instead. I think that would be for the best.”

“Receive them,” Gabriel repeats flatly. “In the king’s audience chamber? Sitting on his throne?”

“Gabriel,” Hannah says sharply, but it’s too late. Gabriel always did have difficulty holding his tongue. 

“I suppose you’ll be wearing his crown as well,” Gabriel finishes, crossing his arms over his chest.

Well. Castiel hadn’t really planned how this conversation would go, whether they ought to reveal themselves to Michael or not. It seems as though that decision has been taken out of his hands, and he’s almost grateful for it. No more careful evasion. They will learn the truth.

Michael’s mask of confusion and concerns barely wavers. “I’m not entirely sure what you’re implying,” he says. “In the absence of the king, I will do my duty to help keep the kingdom safe. Is that not what it means to be a Watcher?”

“Not,” Balthazar says, “when the king’s absence is the direct result of your own actions.” He’s always been a master of withering glares, but the one he directs at Michael now tops them all. 

Michael looks puzzled. Of course he does. He never thought he would get caught. Never assumed that anyone would suspect him of treachery. How arrogant of him.

“Are you accusing me of being in league with Infernia? That’s preposterous,” he blusters.

“Actually, Infernia has nothing to do with this,” Hannah says calmly. “Michael. It’s too late. We know you’re behind the attacks.”

Michael laughs, near-hysterical. “I don’t believe this,” he says. “Castiel. My friend. Surely you don’t believe this?”

What, simply because Castiel is the youngest of them, the least experienced, he’ll be most likely to take Michael’s side in this? If Michael thinks that Castiel is his last hope, he’s wrong. 

Castiel draws himself up to his full height. “I do believe it. In fact, I was the one to realize it in the first place.”

It feels good to let that hang in the air between them, to watch as Michael’s face slowly darkens while he takes in their resolute expressions. As he realizes that they will not be convinced. As he realizes that he’s already lost this battle.

“Well,” Michael says slowly. “I was not expecting that.”

Castiel lets out an inelegant snort. “No? Then why did you bother attempting to have me killed, if not because you were afraid that I would discover your treachery?”

Michael waves a hand at him dismissively. “I didn’t try to have you killed,” he says. “It was a convenient way to solidify the notion that Infernia was responsible for the attacks. Your proximity to the border made you the most convincing target. I was actually quite pleased with the way that turned out. Happy to see that you survived.”

“But you were willing to take the chance,” Hannah says, her disgust evident. 

Michael shrugs. “I accepted that certain sacrifices had to be made.”

“Such as the homes and farms of Coldstream? The homes of Veridia, and the livelihoods of all the people forced to flee when you set it on fire?” Gabriel asks, equally disgusted.

“You will note that I avoided as much loss of life as possible,” Michael replies, as though somehow that will convince them that his actions were excusable. “And so far, I’ve accomplished exactly what I set out to do.”

His confidence has always been part of Michael’s charm, but now it frightens Castiel. Fortunately, he knows how to chip away it, how to make Michael feel doubt again.

“Except that you lost the king,” Castiel points out. “That’s the flaw in your plan, Michael. The king was meant to die when you attacked Veridia. Don’t attempt to deny it, I saw the same type of creature that you sent to my tower entering the palace. That too was an assassination attempt.”

“A vile, despicable, cowardly act,” Balthazar adds. 

Michael sends them a poisonous glare. “What does it matter that the king survived? He’s nowhere to be found. I will take the throne, and he will not dare attempt to reclaim it. He’s too meek and docile for that. I have the power, the charm, and soon I will have the support of the people. I will convince them that the attackers came from Infernia, and when I stop the attacks, they will welcome me as a hero, and as their king.” The gleam in his eyes intensifies as he speaks, and his cheeks are flushed by the time he finishes. He looks, quite simply, more than a little mad. 

Castiel is forced to admit that Michael’s plan is a clever one. King Charles has no children, and has not yet appointed his heir. He’s still far from old, and in good health. No one ever thought they would have to be concerned about the line of succession. But if he does indeed remain out of the capital, the people will begin to look for a new leader, particularly as they feel threatened by the attacks. 

And if one were unaware of Michael’s villainy, he would make the most logical candidate. The Military Watcher is a well-respected figure throughout the kingdom. The people would support him without question. And when he chose to stop the attacks, they would all believe it was a victory and not a deception, and their support would intensify.

Yes, it is a clever plan. But explaining it at length to three other powerful magic-users was perhaps not so clever.

“Why would you tell us this?” Castiel asks. “Why give away the entire scheme?”

Michael blinks at him. “Because I wish for you to join me, of course,” he says, clearly bemused. “I wish for your support.”

The others trade confused looks. How could Michael possibly think they would support him after he confessed to trying to kill both Castiel and the king, in addition to the other attacks?

“You must be joking,” Hannah says flatly.

Balthazar shakes his head. “Your sense of humour is terrible as always, Michael.”

But Michael just looks into the mirror beseechingly. “No, I am in earnest. I have tremendous respect for you. My brothers, my sister. You do valuable work for the kingdom. I would be grateful and honoured to have you continue it under my rule.”

Castiel laughs, though he’s far from amused. “Never,” he says emphatically. “Never, Michael. You tried to kill me.”

Gabriel makes a noise of assent. “You’ve gone too far, Michael. You must be stopped.”

“And you really think you can stop me?” Now Michael just looks amused. “You have no idea what I’m capable of. What I’ve learned over the years. What spells I’ve created.”

“We figured out how to destroy your earth-creatures easily enough,” Castiel points out. “I feel confident that we can do the same with anything else you throw at us.”

“We’ll see about that,” Michael says with a smirk. “Well, it seems as though no progress is being made here. I’ll allow you some more time to consider your options. I’m gracious like that. But for now, I’m off to the palace. There are matters that require my attention.”

“You are a disgrace, Michael,” Gabriel says tightly. “And we will not stand for it.”

Michael sneers at them. “Good luck with that. And if you should happen to see the king, tell him there’s no point returning to the capital. I have things well in hand here. Be watchful.” 

He manages to turn the customary farewell of their order into a threat, and with a last mocking wave, Michael’s mirror goes dark.

There’s a minute of silence amongst the other four Watchers as they process what just took place. Hannah shakes her head slowly back and forth, Gabriel paces in front of his mirror, and Balthazar fiddles with the jewelled pendant around his neck.

They seem to be at a loss for words, so Castiel speaks first. “Well, at least now we know what to expect.”

Gabriel stops pacing and glares at him. “And what, precisely, can we do about about it? Knowing doesn’t change anything if we don’t come up with a way to make that information useful to us.”

“We’re highly intelligent, well-trained magic users,” Hannah says with great determination. “We can fix this. We will fix this. We have to.”

“But not alone,” Castiel adds. “Dean-- Captain Winchester-- and his squad are on their way to the capital. They should be arriving there soon. With the four of us working from our towers and them on the ground in Veridia, surely we can do something.”

“It may take time,” Balthazar points out. “Can we risk that? What if Michael orchestrates another attack, and more people are injured because we took too long coming up with a plan?”

This is Castiel’s worry as well. Michael said that he didn’t seek unnecessary loss of life, but he was also unconcerned about making some sacrifices in order to achieve his ultimate goal. If he decides that killing people will help him secure the throne, he will do it. 

And Castiel refuses to allow that to happen. 

“Michael’s plan hinges on the people’s support,” he says slowly, still collecting his thoughts even as he voices them out loud. “He has no real desire to be a leader. He simply wants to feel powerful, to be loved and admired, because he feels he’s owed it.”

“So if the people find out that he’s a traitor…” Gabriel adds, understanding exactly what Castiel is trying to say.

“They’ll never recognize him as king,” Balthazar concludes triumphantly. “But how do we convince them?”

“I had a hard enough time convincing you,” Castiel says wryly. “Why would the people trust us over Michael? They don’t know any of us.”

Because that’s what it comes down to, in the end. Esporia has long been a kingdom ruled by someone the people trust, not someone they fear. Unlike Infernia, whose citizens seem to delight in challenging their ruler to feats of power in order to prove them unfit to rule, the people of Esporia are generally content with the ruling structure of the kingdom. 

Michael knows this, and that’s why he plans to call off the attacks, making it look as though he has defeated the enemy of the people. It’s the best way of obtaining their trust. 

A slow smile creeps across Castiel’s face.

“What?” Gabriel demands. “Castiel, do you have a plan?”

“We have exactly what we need,” Castiel replies.

“Stop being so vague, Castiel, just tell us,” Balthazar implores him.

“We have a weapon Michael hasn’t even considered. We have Dean.”

The others look back at him, confused. Still smiling, Castiel explains his plan.

***

They’ve been running for some time now, and the adrenaline from the fight is beginning to wear off. So far, there have been no signs of anyone pursuing them. But Dean pushes forward, refusing to stop or even slow down. If he stops, he’ll have nothing to distract him from the image of Benny’s body crumpled at the base of the Red Tower that keeps flashing through his mind. If he stops, he may not start again.

And he still has Jo and Victor to look after, as best as he can. He won’t fail them like he failed Benny. 

The trees begin to thin, and Dean can see the walls of Veridia, not far away now. As they reach the edge of the forest, he finally holds up a hand, indicating to the others that they should stop. 

“We need a plan,” he says, still trying to catch his breath. “Where do we go?”

He doubts that Michael suspects his involvement in the king’s escape from the city, but he does know that Michael doesn’t like him much. His home may be under watch. He can’t assume that it’s safe to go there. The same goes for his childhood home. 

“To my mother’s tavern,” Jo suggests. Her breathing is steady, but there’s a flush on her cheeks, evidence of their desperate flight away from the Red Tower. 

“How do we know she’s even there?” Victor asks. His face is stoic, but his voice is rough. None of them are unaffected by the loss of one of their own.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jo shrugs. “She’s got a cellar underneath, well-stocked and surprisingly comfortable. It will make a good hideout.”

Dean thinks it over briefly, then nods. “Harvelle’s Tavern it is.”

They walk right up to the city gates and pass through the gate. Dean is perturbed by the silence around them. At this time of day, there should be a steady stream of people passing in and out of the gate, returning from the fields outside of the city or heading out for an afternoon ride. But there’s no one on the streets, and the click of their boots against the cobblestones is jarring in the quiet. 

Dean sees the occasional flash of movement from within the windows, though. In this outer area of the city, the damage from the fire is less severe than it was near the palace. More people may have stayed here, but remain indoors now, fearful of another attack. Dean can’t blame them for their caution.

They wind through the silent streets until they arrive at Harvelle’s Tavern, run by Jo’s mother Ellen since the death of her husband when Jo was just a child. The familiar building is a comforting sight, even if the roof is badly singed and several of the windows are broken. 

Jo gently pushes on the door, and it opens without resistance. She looks back at them over her shoulder, and walks inside, Dean and Victor following behind her. 

The interior of the tavern is dark, and it takes a few seconds for Dean’s eyes to adjust. When they do, the first thing he sees is an unfamiliar woman standing in front of the bar, holding a small but sharp-looking blade in front of her. 

Dean immediately moves to draw his own sword, but Jo holds out a hand to stop him. “Anna!” she exclaims, and the other woman slowly lowers her blade, then opens her arms as Jo throws herself at her in an embrace.

Dean and Victor exchange confused looks, but before Jo can explain, a door creaks open and Ellen Harvelle steps into the room. She lets out a wordless cry, and Jo runs to her. Mother and daughter share a quick hug before Jo steps back.

“We need someplace safe to stay,” she says bluntly. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“You were right to come here,” Ellen says firmly. She looks over at Dean, concerned. “It’s good to see you, boy. And you,” she says to Victor. “But where’s Benny?”

Dean bites his lip, and looks helplessly at Jo. He can’t bring himself to say it, not yet. 

Jo gently lays a hand on her mother’s arm. “We lost Benny,” she says softly, her own grief evident in her voice. 

Ellen’s hand flies to her mouth in shock. “Oh, no,” she murmurs. “That poor man. And his wife…”

Damn it. Dean had forgotten about Andrea until now. They will have to find her as soon as possible and tell her the news. Dean didn’t relish the thought of telling her that her husband was dead, but it was his responsibility as captain to do so. 

There’s a weighty silence as they all take a few moments to compose themselves. It’s the other woman who finally speaks-- Anna, Jo called her. 

“I’m sorry to hear of the loss of your friend,” she says. “There will be time to grieve. But perhaps, Jo, you ought to tell us why you are here. Why you’ve come back.”

Jo sniffles, but pulls herself together. “Right,” she says. “Well, I guess introductions are in order. Victor, Dean, this is Anna. She’s a friend of mom’s and a bit of a regular here. Anna, Victor Henriksen and Captain Dean Winchester, fellow members of the Guard.”

Dean nods stiffly at her, still unclear as to why this woman should be part of their discussion. 

Anna smiles gently at him, obviously reading his distrust in his body language. “Relax, Captain Winchester,” she says. “I assure you, I am here to help. And I am more than capable of doing so.”

Dean looks at her more closely, but other than the ease with which she holds her blade, he sees nothing to prove her claim. She’s close to Ellen’s age, and not particularly large or strong-looking. He raises a skeptical eyebrow at her.

She stares back at him, cool and composed, and raises her hands, flicking the fingers out in a gesture Dean doesn’t recognize. A second later, his sleeve bursts into flames.

Ellen lets out a little laugh as Dean frantically smothers the flames. “What was that!” he exclaims.

“Magic,” Anna says simply.

Even Jo is looking at her with sudden respect. “You’ve been coming here how long, and I never knew you could do that,” Jo says, awed. 

Anna laughs mirthlessly. “Yes, well, I never intended for you to know,” she says. “Your mother found out, because she knows everything eventually. But she swore to keep my secret.”

“Where did you learn that?” Dean asks coldly. Is she from Infernia, perhaps, where magic can be learned by anyone? If so, that only makes her more suspicious.

“I learned it in the Grey Tower, under the supervision of the Weather Watcher before me,” Anna replies.

Dean feels his jaw drop open. This is _Anna_? Castiel’s Anna? The Weather Watcher who trained him, who practically raised him? 

“You’re Castiel’s Anna?” he blurts out.

It’s Anna’s turn to look shocked. “You know Castiel?” she says, stepping forward, closer to Dean. “How is that possible?”

“Kind of a long story,” Dean replies. “But, in summary: my squad was attacked in the woods near Coldstream, I was hurt, Castiel found me and brought me back to the Grey Tower to heal me. We...became close. Then after the attack here, I brought a small group of refugees, including the king, back to the Tower to keep them safe. And now we’re back here again.”

Anna frowns. “Why would you bring the king closer to Infernia? To the enemy?”

Right. Dean keeps forgetting that not everyone knows what they do. “Infernia is not the enemy,” he says. “At least not this time. Michael is. The Military Watcher.”

Anna’s face pales. “Michael?” she whispers. “But he’s a Watcher. He’s supposed to protect the kingdom…” she trails off, and as she processes the information, her face hardens. “Though he always did have an over-inflated sense of his own importance.”

“So you believe us, then?” Jo checks.

Anna nods. “Yes. But how did you discover his betrayal?”

Victor speaks up. “Again, kind of a long story,” he drawls. “But we had enough to suspect him, and we followed the tunnel from the Grey Tower, the one that creature used when it tried to kill Castiel. It led us all the way across the kingdom and right to the Red Tower, past a whole cave of those things just waiting to be activated.”

Anna shakes her head impatiently. “This still makes little sense,” she says. “But if Michael is the one who is controlling those creatures, that’s proof enough that he is putting the kingdom at risk. I don’t know anything about tunnels, though. And Castiel was attacked? Is he alright?”

Dean smiles slightly at that. It’s nice to see someone else so concerned for Castiel’s well-being. “He’s fine,” he assures Anna. “He’s been a tremendous help. The king and several of his guards are still at the Grey Tower with him now.”

“Good. Castiel will keep them safe.” Anna seems supremely confident in Castiel’s abilities, and that’s reassuring as well. 

“Yeah,” Dean says. “I wish we could get a message to him, though. It’s hard not being to able to stay in constant communication at a time like this.”

Ellen and Anna trade enigmatic glances. “What?” Jo demands, looking between the two of them. “I know those looks. Those are the looks you two get when you know something no one else does.”

“I have a way of contacting the Grey Tower,” Anna says. “A spell, that all Watchers learn when they pass the title on their apprentice. I can reach Castiel via mirror.”

Well, isn’t that a much-needed stroke of good luck. “And you can do it from here? With any ordinary mirror?” he confirms. 

“Yes,” Anna says, pushing back her sleeves. 

Ellen disappears for a few minutes and returns carrying a small mirror with a simple wooden frame, most likely borrowed from the chambers she keeps above the tavern. She passes it to Anna, who accepts it quietly.

Then she begins to chant under her breath, the words unfamiliar to Dean, but he recognizes the rhythm from his time spent with Castiel while he performed spellwork. Anna falls silent, and before Dean can protest, she makes a thin slash across her own palm with her blade, and lets the blood drip out on the mirror’s frame.

“The Grey Tower. Castiel.” Her words are clearly enunciated, and the surface of the mirror goes cloudy before focusing in on an image of Castiel in his workroom, staring back at them like he’s seen a ghost.

“Anna?” he whispers, stretching out a hand like he could touch her despite the distance between them. “Is it truly you?”

Anna blinks back tears, but one escapes and trickles slowly down her cheek as she manages a weak smile. “It’s good to see you, Castiel.”

Castiel finally seems to take notice of the others. “How is this possible?” he asks, clearly bewildered. “Dean, what’s going on?”

Anna must notice that Castiel addresses his question to Dean rather than to any of the others, because she gives him an amused look and a sly wink. Dean feels his face grow warm. This is Castiel’s friend, mentor, pseudo-older sister...he’s almost glad that they have a difficult situation at hand to distract him from the pressure of making a good impression on her.

“We found the cave where Michael is keeping the creatures,” he explains to Castiel. “Maybe where he’s making them too. It’s below the Great Falls, so that finally explains why your mirror kept showing you that place.”

“Because it couldn’t show me the caves themselves, but the closest area above ground,” Castiel murmurs. “It makes sense. And then what?”

Dean’s throat tightens, and he swallows roughly before continuing. “We came out of the tunnel at the base of the Red Tower. At first it didn’t look like anyone was there, but then one of those things ambushed us. Probably left behind with instructions to guard the Tower. We managed to destroy it, but...we lost Benny, Cas.”

Castiel’s expression is stricken. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers. 

Dean wishes they were actually speaking face to face so he could seek comfort in Castiel’s arms. “And we ran. Made it back to the city, to Jo’s mom’s tavern, and that’s where we met Anna.”

Castiel turns a skeptical gaze on Anna. “This is where you’ve been for the past ten years? Haunting a tavern in the capital city?”

Anna smiles at him fondly. “No, silly boy. Not the whole time. But long enough to know that Ellen and Jo Harvelle are good people. Trustworthy people. And if they say Michael is behind these attacks, well, I believe them.”

“Michael,” Castiel says bitterly, his face darkening. “He contacted me this morning. I made sure all the other Watchers were present as well. We may have accidentally revealed to him that we knew of his betrayal.”

“Cas!” Dean exclaims. “That was an incredibly foolish thing to do. If he knows that you know, he’ll try to take you out. Again.”

He can’t believe that Castiel would risk himself so recklessly. And not only himself, but also the king, who was still at the Grey Tower with him. And Bobby, and Rufus. 

“I don’t think so,” Castiel says. “He wants us to join him. To support him.”

“After he tried to have you killed?” Anna asks angrily. “The sheer arrogance of that man.”

“He wants to be respected and admired, not feared,” Castiel continues rapidly. “He’s going to start acting in the king’s stead, beginning with hearing the reports from the ambassadors to Infernia. And then when he decides to stop sending his own monstrous creations out to attack the kingdom, it will look as though he has defeated the enemy, and he expects that the people will support his claim to the throne.”

“So we bring the king back,” Victor suggests. “Simple. We already laid the groundwork when we had the Wildlife Watcher send the birds with messages to the villages. The people will never support Michael as ruler over King Charles.”

Castiel shakes his head. “I won’t risk the king’s life,” he says. “Michael has already proved that he’s willing to murder him as a means to an end. We have to stop him another way, one that doesn’t involve putting the king in danger.”

“What are you thinking?” Dean asks. At this point, Castiel is the one with the best grasp on the situation. He has to have some idea of how to put an end to it, before things get even worse. 

“I’m thinking that we need you, Dean,” Castiel replies. “The people know you. They love you. You’re already a hero in their eyes. If you defeat the creatures somehow, before Michael has a chance to make them conveniently disappear, all while loudly proclaiming your loyalty to King Charles despite his absence…”

“The people will love it,” Jo finishes. There’s renewed enthusiasm in her eyes. “And then when Dean reveals that Michael, not Crowley, was behind the attacks all along, Michael will have no power over them.”

There’s only one problem with this plan. “Michael will still fight,” Dean says wearily. “He won’t accept defeat easily. We have to be prepared for a fight against his creatures, and also against him.”

“He’ll be at the palace,” Castiel informs them. “Probably distracted talking to Linda and Kevin, then trying to determine how to spin their words into something that supports his story rather than theirs.”

“I guess that’s why he wasn’t at the Tower earlier,” Victor murmurs.

Dean rubs thoughtfully at his chin. “If you can keep him there,” he says, “we can go back and smash up his army.”

“Oh, I’m sure the other Watchers and I can find a way to keep him there,” Castiel replies with a sharp grin. 

“You’re going now?” Ellen asks. “You’ve barely rested. You’re in no shape to be going chasing monsters.”

She does have a point. Dean looks at Jo and Victor, and they both look back at him steadily. “For Benny,” Victor says, and Jo nods jerkily. 

“There’s not a moment to lose,” Dean says, turning back to Ellen. “We have to move quickly, before Michael gets the chance to put his own plan into action.”

He glances over at Anna, who has fallen quiet for the past few minutes. “Would you care to accompany us?” he offers. He’s been impressed by her magical talent so far. She may be handy to have around. 

“No, thank you,” she replies. “I’ll be heading to the palace, I think. Along with my mirror here. It’s best if we keep an open channel of communication with Castiel and the other Watchers.”

Dean supposes that makes sense. He wouldn’t want Castiel to call down a bolt of lightning and strike the wrong person by mistake. Besides, Anna seems to have a pretty personal stake in this fight. It only seems fair that she be at the centre of the action. 

“Well then,” he says. “I guess we’re off to smash those creepy things to bits.”

Ellen rolls her eyes at them and leans down behind the bar, coming up with a piece of wood that might once have been part of the building. “Take this,” she advises. “And hit them hard.”

Dean grins at her. “Yes ma’am,” he says. 

“Good luck,” Castiel says, drawing Dean’s attention back to him. “I wish I could go with you.”

Dean shakes his head. “You’ve got your own role to play,” he says gently. “And I’ll feel better knowing you’re doing your part to stop this, Cas.”

He wants to say more, but he’s aware that they have an audience. So he settles for a lingering glance, hoping Castiel can read the meaning behind it. Judging by the way he stares back, he can. 

“We should go,” Jo says quietly, tearing Dean’s attention away from Castiel.

Dean shakes his head, clearing his thoughts. “Right.”

He turns back to Anna and Ellen, offering them a little bow. “Ladies, thank you for your hospitality. And Anna, good luck to you.”

“And to you, Dean,” Anna says warmly. “To all of you. I’m pleased to know that we have such capable allies.”

With a last look at the mirror that still shows Castiel’s face, Dean leaves Harvelle’s Tavern behind. 

“We’ve got work to do,” he says to Jo and Victor.


	16. Chapter 16

A number of surprising things have happened to Castiel over the past few weeks, so really, Anna’s appearance in one of his mirrors should have been just another strange occurrence to add to the list. But it’s so much more than that.

It’s so good to see her, to know that she’s alive and well, and to feel the comforting warmth of her approval as they discuss strategies to put an end to Michael’s plan. She’s yet another unexpected ally, and Castiel is grateful beyond measure that she has joined their fight at this most important time. 

Their connection stays active as Anna travels through the quiet streets of Veridia, her small mirror held in one hand, giving Castiel a sideways view of the city as she walks. They have some time before she arrives at the palace, and he decides this would be a good moment to reach out to the other Watchers again, to prepare them for the upcoming confrontation. 

He activates the other mirrors and waits for them to reply. All three appear quickly in the glass, their expressions steely and determined. 

“We have a plan,” Castiel informs them.

“ _We_?” Balthazar asks.

Castiel picks up the plain, wood-framed mirror that Anna appeared in. He’s already removed it from its usual place on the wall for this purpose. He holds it up in front of him. “Say hello, Anna.”

There’s a surprised inhale from Hannah, a muttered oath from Gabriel, and a delighted chuckle from Balthazar as they realize who they’re looking at. “Hello, old friends,” Anna says with a serene smile. “I’m glad to see you all looking well.”

“This is a strange turns of events,” Hannah says, “but a good sort of strange.”

“Yes,” Castiel agrees. “Dean and his squad found Anna, actually. And they’ve come up with an idea.”

“Oh?” Gabriel asks, intrigued. “Do tell.”

“I’m on my way to the palace to confront Michael,” Anna say smoothly. “Portable mirror communication spell, in case you were wondering. It’s taught to all Watchers when we leave our posts and hand over our duties to our apprentices.”

Castiel is surprised, but only slightly. It makes sense that former Watchers should have a way of contacting their successors if necessary. After all, their own magical knowledge doesn’t disappear simply because they leave their tower behind. 

“What other tricks do you have up your sleeve?” he asks Anna. 

She smiles enigmatically at them. “You’ll see soon enough.”

“The plan,” Balthazar reminds them impatiently.

“Ah yes. Well, it’s simple enough. I interrupt Michael’s attempt at ruling while he meets with the ambassadors recently returned from Infernia, and keep him distracted while Captain Winchester and his squad destroy the cache of inactive creatures they found hidden in the caves below the Great Falls. Then Michael loses credibility with the people, and has no army to attack us with,” Anna explains.

Hannah frowns. “But Michael will still fight,” she points out. 

“Of course,” Castiel replies. “That’s where we come into play. We must all be at the ready, prepared to do whatever it takes to keep Michael in the audience chamber, or wherever Anna finds him. If he gets away, he can return to the Red Tower and remain concealed from us, while devising some other plan to take control of the kingdom.”

Balthazar nods. “I’m not entirely sure how my particular speciality will be of use here, but I will do my best.”

“Nor I,” Hannah says, still frowning. 

Castiel begins to speak, but Anna interrupts him. “No matter,” she says firmly. “Even your presence alone, even through this small mirror, will help to discredit Michael. He is counting on popular support, and if the people see that four current and one former Watcher oppose him, it will be enough to make them doubt his intentions.”

“Precisely. And then once Michael is neutralized, the king can return,” Castiel adds. “I will not risk his life until we are certain that Michael is no longer a threat to him.”

“Courage, dear hearts,” Anna say encouragingly. “Michael may be skilled, but we are united, and we will triumph. I believe that with all that I have in me. I’m almost at the palace now.”

“Ready whatever ingredients you think may be useful,” Castiel advises. 

He takes his own advice, dashing around the workroom to collect various herbs and powders and oils, hoping that he is making the right choices. He is unsure of what spells may be helpful-- a bit of rain won’t do much to keep Michael trapped in the palace. But a lightning strike could divert him, forcing him to keep to a certain path.

The others weave in and out of sight of their mirrors as they follow Castiel’s example. Soon enough, they’re all standing at the ready again, awaiting further instructions.

“I’m entering the palace grounds,” Anna reports. “You’ll know when it is the right time to strike. For now,” she grins at them, surprisingly calm despite the importance of the moment, “watch, and wait.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. Anna always did have a way of deploying humour at the most serious of times. It steadies him to know that she hasn’t changed in the ten years since they last worked spells together. They’ve done miraculous things together, the two of them. They can do it again today.

He wishes he could be in Veridia with her in person, rather than watching events unfolds through a mirror. At least it’s easier for him than it is for the other three, who are yet another level of removed from the action. But it’s enough to give them access to the scene, which they would not otherwise have. 

The view of the city streets changes as Anna drops the mirror, holding it loosely against her side rather than in front of her face. Castiel can see the rich blue fabric of her skirt swaying as she walks, her pace increasing as she nears the palace. 

She walks calmly up to the imposing building. There are no guards posted anywhere that Castiel can see, and no one challenges her passing. What need does Michael have of guards? He controls the earthen creatures. No one else is likely to attempt another attack on the palace. 

Anna passes through the empty corridors of the palace without hesitation. Castiel assumes she must have been inside before, and wonders again exactly how she has spent the past ten years. There will be time to talk of it later, he hopes. 

Faintly, he hears the echo of voices, and his breath catches in his throat. Anna must be getting close. She turns off the main corridor, and a set of wide wooden doors appear before her, left open as though in invitation. 

“Here we go,” Anna murmurs as she enters the room. She adjusts her hold on the mirror as she pushes past several people, most of whom are dressed in the uniforms of the Royal Guard. As she arrives at the front of the room, she strategically positions the mirror so that it captures a view of Michael sitting on a heavily carved wooden chair, Kevin and Linda Tran standing before him. 

Castiel trades glances with the other three Watchers. He’s tense with anticipation, his attention entirely focused on the scene playing itself out in the mirror before him. 

“And aside from Abaddon, King Crowley is also dealing with interference from his mother, Lady Rowena,” Linda is saying. Castiel has heard the report before, of course, but now he’s watching Michael’s reactions to it.

“Forgive me,” Michael says calmly, “but it sounds as though you’re suggesting that these attacks are not coming from Infernia.”

Kevin speaks up. “That’s exactly what we’re saying.”

Michael frowns. “But where else could they be coming from?”

Damn his composure. He sits so easily on the chair that may as well be a throne, the very picture of a strong, confident leader. Castiel curses under his breath. Discrediting him will not be an easy task. 

Kevin and Linda exchange uneasy glances, and Castiel knows that they are trying to decide how much to reveal at this early stage. 

“We merely present the information we were sent to collect,” Linda says diplomatically. “We leave the task of interpreting it up to you.”

Michael smiles graciously. “I thank you for your service to the kingdom,” he says, his voice ringing in the lofty chamber. “On behalf of King Charles, whose health and safety we keep in our thoughts.”

Castiel barely holds backs an exclamation of disgust at Michael’s false words. How can he invoke the name of the very king he tried to have killed?

“This is a difficult time for us all,” Michael continues, lacing his tone with sorrow that only certain members of his audience know to be false. “King Crowley is skilled in deception above all else, and has clearly tricked our ambassadors into thinking him innocent. He will use this to his advantage, and strike again. Likely his attack will come soon. We must do our best to prepare ourselves.”

“We will be honoured to serve under your command, Lord Michael,” one of the guards says fervently.

Castiel tenses. This is exactly the kind of reaction they hope to prevent. If they don’t act soon, others will raise their voices in support as well, and it will be more difficult to persuade them that Michael is a liar and a traitor. 

“Lord Michael does not deserve that command,” Anna says, stepping forward fearlessly. “Nor does he deserve any honour.”

Due to the angle of the mirror, Castiel can only hear Anna. He cannot read the expression on her face. But he has a perfect view of Michael, whose entire body tenses, his own face going stark white, as he realizes who is standing before him.

Michael swallows, casting a nervous glance around the room. “Anna!” he says, attempting to sound welcoming. “This is a pleasant surprise. Friends, this lady was once Weather Watcher, and has come now to advise us in our time of need, or so I must assume.”

“Assume,” Anna repeats softly. “The way you have assumed the duties of the ruler of the kingdom? The way you have assumed his rightful place?”

There’s a low murmur from the assembled crowd, who begin to put some distance between Anna and themselves, leaving a clear space at the front of the room. Kevin and Linda move slightly to the side, but stay close. 

Michael shakes his head slowly. “I have done nothing but serve the kingdom,” he says. “We find ourselves at war, and without a king in the capital city. As Military Watcher, I have a duty to protect the kingdom, and I thought it best that I be among the people.”

“He knows what he’s doing,” the same guard from before speaks up again. “That’s more than most of us can say.”

It would be easier to dismiss this guard and others who share his sentiments as fools, but Castiel knows all too well that the matter is not so simple. In times of worry, people always look to figures of authority, and Michael has that on his side. Why shouldn’t the people trust him?

“Yes,” Anna replies. “He knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s manipulating you, all of you.”

The murmurs of the crowd increase in volume. “What are you talking about?” Kevin asks, though he knows the answer. He will buy them time, leading the conversation in the direction they need it to go.

“Yes,” Michael says through gritted teeth. “What are you talking about?”

The angle changes as Anna turns to face the crowd, daring to turn her back on Michael. “This man is the one responsible for the recent attacks on your homes and villages,” she announces. “He created and controls the creatures that have carried out his orders. He attempted to have the king murdered in his own bed.”

There’s a second of shocked silence before everyone starts talking at once. “Why should we believe you?” someone asks belligerently. “We don’t know who you are.”

Anna laughs. “Perhaps not,” she admits. “But do you truly know your Military Watcher either? I suspect not.”

Linda steps forward. “It’s true,” she tells the crowd. “I am certain of it. Do not place your trust in this man, for he will betray it, and he will betray you.”

This causes some confusion among the crowd, Castiel can tell. Linda is well-known and well-respected. She will have made friends among the guards along the ride back to the capital.

“This is ridiculous,” Michael says angrily. “Arrest this woman.” He points at Anna, who makes no effort to flee.

No one moves to carry out his order.

“I am in command here, and I say, arrest this woman!” Michael’s voice rises as he speaks, and cracks sharply at the end of his sentence. 

One of the guards, an older woman with a lined face, steps forward. “Begging your pardon, sir, but you are not officially an officer of the Royal Guard, and we are not bound to obey you.”

“You see how he grasps at power that is not his?” Anna says. “This has been his plan all along. To weaken the kingdom’s sense of unity, and then to set himself up as the strong leader poised to put it back together again. But you do not need a leader for that. You only need to hold true to yourselves, and to one another.”

“You always were so high-minded,” Michael sneers. “No understanding of the discipline it takes to acquire real power. But I have studied spells and enchantments you could never dream of.”

He reaches under his cloak and produces a small amulet, which he grips tightly in one hand as he whispers a spell under his breath.

“I believe that’s our cue,” Castiel announces to the others. 

There’s a low rumble, and only Anna’s quick reflexes save her from being struck by a chunk of the stone ceiling as it crashes into the place where she stood just seconds before. The crowd gasps, and Anna whirls back around to face them. “Run,” she tells them.

The doors slam shut as soon as the words leave her mouth. “Oh, no,” Michael says, standing up from his chair. “You will not be leaving this room. Only this small group has heard your accusations, Anna. And, as they say, the dead tell no tales.”

“We can’t let him kill all those people,” Hannah says, her eyes huge in her panicked face. 

Gabriel vanishes from sight for a second, then returns bearing a glossy black feather in one hand. He murmurs something too quietly for the others to hear, then sets the feather alight.

A minute later, a large black crow flies directly through the hole in the roof caused by Michael’s spell and swoops into the room, headed directly for Michael. He raises his arms to protect his face, and as he does, the crow snatches the amulet out of his hands, then drops it. It shatters against the hard marble floors.

“It’s over, Michael,” Anna says. “You have nothing without that amulet. You can be certain we will not allow you to return to the Red Tower.”

“You know nothing of my powers,” Michael says. He looks disheveled, but he still speaks with confidence. He moves his hands in a complicated gesture that Castiel recognizes all too well, and Anna is knocked off her feet by a sudden gust of wind. “I have practiced for years to do these spells without all the usual ingredients,” he says. “I don’t need that amulet to hurt you, old friend.”

Anna climbs to her feet. “Perhaps not,” she says. “Perhaps you have exceeded the reach of one normal magic worker. But I am not just one normal magic worker, either.”

Castiel raises his hands and mimics the motions that Michael performed just a few minutes earlier. Unlike Michael, though, he is an expert in weather magic, even without proper time to prepare, and his wind spell is far more powerful, sending Michael flying through the air. He strikes the wall and slides gracelessly to the floor. 

Anna moves closer to stand over him. “Just give up,” she begs him.

Michael stirs. “Never,” he mumbles. 

Balthazar lets out a disappointed sigh and readies his own spell. Leafy vines burst through the marble floors and wrap around Michael’s body, pinning him in place.

“You’re beaten, Michael,” Anna says again. “If you admit your treachery to all assembled here, we may persuade the king to be lenient.”

“The king is dead,” Michael spits viciously, struggling against his bonds. “Or, if he’s alive, he’s too cowardly to emerge from wherever he’s hiding.”

“The king is alive,” Anna says, then turns to the crowd. “The king is alive,” she repeats more loudly. “And he will return, once this traitor is locked away.”

“King Charles is alive?” someone asks in wonderment. “We heard he was, but that was days ago. Good old King Charles.”

“We’ll have no other ruler while King Charles yet lives!” someone else calls out.

“You see, Michael,” Anna says, “loyalty is earned, not taken by force.”

Michael laughs, a horrible screeching noise. Though he is secured by the vines around the legs, hips, and shoulders, his hands and arms are free. He manages to grab the small blade hidden in the folds of his cloak, bringing it up to slice across his palm before Anna snatches it away from him. He presses his bloody hand to his heart, then to his forehead, before more vines spring from the ground and pin his arms tightly against his sides.

“What is this,” Anna demands, and for the first time, she sounds worried.

Michael just keeps laughing.

Castiel looks to the others, but they all appear as confused as he is. Michael’s actions had no immediate consequences, so they do not know how to react, nor how to counter them.

“Michael, what have you done?”

***

It’s with renewed purpose, if not renewed enthusiasm, that Dean leads Jo and Victor back into the tunnel below the capital. This time, they use the exit they first found, the one right by the city walls, and approach the cave from the same direction as they did before. All three of them carry heavy pieces of wood, salvaged from the wreckage of the burned down houses within the city walls. 

It’s fitting, Dean thinks, that they use the evidence of the creatures’ attack on Veridia to destroy them in turn.

They pass quickly and quietly through the tunnel. When they reach the lofty cavern with its protruding rocks and pools of clear water, Dean holds up a hand to signal to the others to stop. 

“The plan is simple,” he tells them, keeping his voice so quiet that they have to lean in closely to be able to hear him. “We keep our backs together so they can’t sneak up on us without warning, and one by one, we smash those awful things to pieces. I don’t know if they’re asleep the way we would think of it, but if they are, they might wake up once the noise starts.”

Jo and Victor both nod, the torchlight reflecting off the water and casting strange shadows over their faces. 

“If I tell you to run, you run,” he says, holding their gazes. “If I tell you to leave me behind, you leave me behind.”

“Dean--” Jo protests, but Dean cuts her off.

“I’m not losing you too,” he says fiercely, shutting his eyes against the image of Benny’s broken body that flashes through his mind.

Jo and Victor look at each other, and Dean can’t determine what their silent conversation entails, but they both turn back to him and nod, so he’s satisfied. 

“Let’s go.”

They’re forced to walk single file through the short tunnel that leads into the next cave, with Dean in the lead, Jo in the middle, and Victor bringing up the rear. Dean enters the cave with bated breath, and is relieved to see that they are unmoving, still in the same vulnerable positions as they were before. 

He adjusts his grip on the solid piece of wood that Ellen gave him, and with Jo and Victor at his back, he raises it above his head and smashes it directly into the centre of the nearest creature. 

It cracks apart with a dreadful noise that echoes loudly off the earthen walls of the cave. Dean whirls around, ready to attack again if the others suddenly begin to move.

But nothing happens, and the creatures remain still.

Victor exhales shakily. “Well, that’s a stroke of good luck,” he murmurs. Jo nods, her eyes wide.

“Our job just got a whole lot easier,” Dean says with a humourless grin. He raises his piece of wood again, and breaks apart another of the creatures.

They smash them methodically. There are maybe a dozen of them overall, and with three of them working in tandem, it doesn’t take long to reduce the ranks.

They’re down to only three of the creatures, nearly hidden in the darkness at the back of the cave, and as Jo hits it with a tremendous amount of force for someone so small, Dean catches movement out of the corner of his eye.

“Eyes forward, squad,” he says immediately. They peer at the last two creatures, and Victor gulps nervously.

“That one’s moving,” he says quietly. A few seconds later, he adds, “The other one too.”

Dean should have known it couldn’t possibly be so easy. They all turn to face the two creatures, who are both sitting up, then slowly climbing out of their nooks in the walls. There are strange symbols glowing on their foreheads, and they shuffle forwards slowly but steadily.

“Aim for the knees,” Dean commands. “If we can get them horizontal again, it’ll be easier to smash them.”

At least they don’t have weapons, but as Dean is well aware, they’re still perfectly capable of injuring or killing he and his squad. He holds his piece of wood out in front of him almost like a sword, ready to take a swing. 

As usual, though, Jo is quicker. She darts to the side, then hits the creature right at the back of the knee, causing it to stumble and fall to the ground, even though its tough skin does not fully crack. She hits it again, and this time it does break apart.

She looks over and grins triumphantly at Dean and Victor, but her grin disappears as she realizes that the ruined body of the one creature is between her and the others, while the second creature has turned towards her, arms outstretched.

Dean swears under his breath and hits it right between the shoulder blades as hard as he can, but it doesn’t even seem to feel the blow. It’s still advancing on Jo.

Victor follows Dean’s earlier advice and goes for the knees. The creature wobbles, then falls. As it does, its arms flail out, and one of them catches Jo, sending her flying into the wall of the cave. She cries out in pain, and Victor dashes to her side as Dean grimly smashes the last of the creatures to bits on the cave floor.

Once he’s satisfied that they’ve all been destroyed, he joins Jo and Victor, both slumped over against the firm earthen walls of the cave. There are tear tracks down Jo’s face, but she’s conscious, and Dean knows it could have gone far, far worse. 

“You did great,” he tells her, clasping one of her hands in both of his briefly. Once he lets go, he claps Victor lightly on the back. “You, too.”

“I think her collarbone is broken,” Victor replies, and Dean winces in sympathy.

“Dean,” Jo says, “you have to go.”

Dean looks at her in confusion. “What do you mean? We have to go.”

Jo shakes her head, then grimaces, the movement obviously upsetting her injury. “I can’t move at full speed,” she says. “Victor and I will take our time getting back to the city. You have to go, as quickly as possible. The longer Michael has before you arrive in victory, the longer he has to persuade people that he should rule.”

He doesn’t want to admit it, but Jo has a point. Their mission was to destroy Michael’s army of monsters so he could no longer use them against the people, but also so that he couldn’t pretend to defeat them when it was convenient for him. By now, Anna will have confronted him in front of the ambassadors and various other onlookers. The moment will be right for him to sweep in and play the hero, stealing Michael’s thunder.

Jo’s still looking at him, waiting for him to argue, and he can tell by the stubborn set of her chin that she’ll argue back just as fiercely, maybe even more so. Victor isn’t saying anything, but Dean remembers the look that passed between them just before they entered the cave, and expects that he and Jo will be on the same team.

“Fine,” Dean sighs. “Just know that if you get any more hurt than you already are, your mother will kill me. So you take good care of her, Victor.”

“You got it, Captain,” Victor says, helping Jo to her feet. 

“See you on the other side,” Dean says to them. He turns to leave, but as he passes the broken pieces of the last creature still scattered on the floor, he’s struck by a sudden idea. He bends down and picks up the thing’s head, holding it awkwardly under one arm. 

“Proof,” he explains, and Jo and Victor both nod approvingly. He salutes them with his free hand, then leaves the cave at a steady jog. 

It’s a lonely trip back into the capital by himself, but he makes good time, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he approaches the city walls. He chose to travel above ground this time, and he’s glad for the fresh air after the time spent in the tunnels and caves. 

Once he enters the city, he heads directly for the palace, praying that he isn’t too late. If things went wrong, if Anna was hurt somehow, this will not go smoothly at all. He takes the steps up the palace doors two at a time, then hesitates as he enters, trying to determine the most logical chamber for Michael to have chosen as his audience room.

He’s spared the decision by the sound of shouting coming from one of the corridors, and he follows it to the correct room, moving more quietly now. He wants to try to get a sense of the atmosphere in the room before he barges in. He tests the doors, which are closed but not locked, and opens them as quietly as possible, sliding inside the room. 

There’s a large crowd of people standing in the well-appointed chamber, their faces nervous but not frightened. Their attention is focused on the front of the room, allowing Dean to move through the crowd without immediately being recognized.

He pushes his way to the front of the room and takes in the scene before him. Michael is lying prone on the ground, bound in vines that seem to have grown right through the marble floor. Anna is standing over him, her clothes in disarray with a small scrape on one cheek, but otherwise unharmed. She still holds the mirror in front of her, and Dean can just see Castiel’s dark hair and the curve of his cheek reflected in its surface. 

“You won’t get away with this,” Michael is saying. “They’re coming. They’ll be here soon, and then you’ll regret this. Then they’ll come for all of you, climbing up your precious towers,” he continues, obviously addressing Castiel and the other Watchers. 

Ah, so that’s why the last two creatures started moving all of a sudden. Michael must have activated them somehow, tried to call them to his aid. Dean is quite happy to know that he and his friends were able to prevent that from happening.

“You should run while you still can,” Michael says, turning his head as much as possible to address the crowd. “It won’t be long now.”

Dean’s had enough. He shifts the creature’s head that he’s been carrying so that it’s hidden behind his back. He steps forward, and finally the people realize who has been standing among them for the past few minutes. There are gasps of surprise, low whispers, and even a few salutes from those dressed in the uniforms of the Guard. 

He joins Anna, who inclines her head at him respectfully, and looks down on Michael with disgust. 

“Oh, it’s you,” Michael sneers. Under other circumstances, Dean might admire his total commitment to the role of evil mastermind, but right now all he feels is rage. 

“Yeah, it’s me,” he says tightly. “From what I just heard, it sounds like you were expecting someone else. Or rather, something else. But I’ve got bad news for you.”

Dean pulls the earthen head from behind his back and holds it up so it’s visible to the entire room. 

“No,” Michael whispers, his voice breaking.

“My squad and I found an entire cave full of these things, and a tunnel that connected them right to the base of the Red Tower,” Dean says, his voice ringing in the otherwise-silent room. “We destroyed them. If you had any lingering doubts about this man’s involvement in the recent attacks on our kingdom, let this put an end to them.”

He throws the stone head against the floor and watches as it shatters in the most satisfying way. 

“Your army is not coming,” Dean says flatly. “Unless you have another secret cave full of them somewhere, which I highly doubt, judging by the look on your face.”

“I told you before, but this only confirms it,” Anna adds. “You lost, Michael.”

Michael struggles against the vines that hold him. That must be Balthazar’s work. Dean is almost sorry that he missed seeing that happen, but he had his own part to play. 

“This can’t be happening,” Michael seethes. 

Dean snorts. “Sorry, but I think it is.”

“I was the strongest of the Watchers! I learned magic they would never dare to attempt! I can be the king that Esporia needs, a strong leader, not like that sniveling wretch you all want back so badly!”

Dean draws his sword and places it lightly against Michael’s throat. “Keep insulting the king, go on,” he challenges. “Give me another reason to kill you right here and now.”

“Dean.” That’s Castiel’s voice. Dean had almost forgotten that he was witnessing all this through the mirror that Anna holds. 

“Dean,” Castiel repeats. “He will face a trial in front of the king and all the Watchers. It is not for you to decide his fate.”

Castiel’s steady voice breaks through the fog of anger clouding Dean’s brain, and he steps back, sliding his sword back into his scabbard.

Michael laughs hysterically. “So easily commanded,” he says mockingly. “What a good little soldier you are. Obeying orders like the mindless ant that you are.”

He’s on the verge of saying something else, when suddenly a roll of soft cloth appears out of nowhere and wraps around his mouth, effectively gagging him. He thrashes back and forth, his eyes rolling angrily, but he is blessedly silent. 

Dean looks into the mirror and raises an eyebrow. “Was that you?” he asks Castiel.

Castiel shakes his head, the barest trace of a smile on his lips. “No, that would be Hannah,” he says. “She found a use for her special magical talent after all.”

Dean finds himself chuckling at the absurdity of the situation. He catches Anna’s eye, and sees that she is laughing too. They did it. They really did it.

“Captain Winchester, sir?” someone asks timidly. 

Dean turns to face the speaker, a young woman in the uniform of the Royal Guard. She must be newly enlisted, as she looks to still be in her teens. 

“Yes?” he replies.

The young woman blushes. “Will the king come back now, sir?”

Dean looks at Anna again, and she nods. “I think so,” Dean tells the room. “But he won’t be too happy to see that we’re the only ones in the city.”

“You’re not,” a voice from the doorway announces. 

Dean’s head snaps up. He would know that voice anywhere. 

“Sam?” he asks incredulously as his brother enters the room, Jess by his side.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam says. “Looks like you saved the day.”

“Not just me,” Dean corrects him. “We all did.”

Sam smiles, his dimples appearing in his cheeks. “Well, that’s good, because I brought some friends along, and they’re all pretty excited to be coming home.”

So their mission was a success as well. The people of the kingdom will return to their homes now, knowing that it is safe to do so. 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says, looking into the mirror. Anna smirks at him and passes it over so that he can speak to Castiel more directly. “How do you feel about taking a trip to Veridia?”

Castiel’s lip twitches, but he manages to keep his face otherwise composed. “I hear it’s lovely this time of year,” he replies. “And since I know I’ll have good company for the ride, I think I feel quite good about a trip to Veridia, Dean.” 

“Not to put a damper on this thrilling moment,” Sam interrupts them, “But what are we planning to do about him?” He points to Michael, still bound on the floor, shooting venomous glares at them all.

“We’ve got some dungeons in the barracks that haven’t been used in awhile,” Dean suggests. “I say we get him all set up there while we get ready for his trial.”

“He’ll need constant supervision,” Anna warns. “We destroyed his amulet, but he may still have other spells up his sleeve.”

Dean looks at the crowd. “Guards!” he calls out loudly. “I require volunteers to stand watch over this traitor until such time as the king returns to the city to oversee his trial.”

Every hand in the room shoots up, even those not attached to a member of the Royal Guard. 

“I think we’ve got this covered,” Dean says.

There are still things that need to be done. He has to send riders out to find Victor and Jo and bring them home, so that Jo can receive immediate medical attention. Victor deserves a nice long rest as well.

And someone will need to travel to the Red Tower to bring Benny’s body back to his wife. Hopefully Andrea will be among those who have returned to the city early. 

Then there’s the matter of actually rebuilding the city, repairing the damage done by the fire. It will be a slow process, but the people of Veridia are hard-working, and they will help one another along the way. 

Under Anna’s supervision, a team of guards is carefully cutting the vines that hold Michael in place, so that he’s no longer attached to the floor but his movements are still restricted. Once he’s on his feet, they surround him, and the crowd parts to let them pass. 

Michael holds his head high as he stumbles out of the room, the vines not allowing for any great length of stride. Anna reaches for the mirror as she passes Dean.

“You’ll see him soon enough,” she teases, and Dean flushes faintly.

Once they’ve left, the others start to file out of the room as well. Kevin and Linda offer him congratulatory nods, which he returns. They’ve played an important role in this fight, and he has a tremendous amount of respect for them.

Finally, only Dean, Sam, and Jess are left in the room.

“Come on, Dean,” Sam says, throwing an arm over his brother’s shoulders. “Let’s go home.”

Dean likes the sound of that.


	17. Chapter 17

Castiel is unaccustomed to riding for such a long time, but his urgent desire to reach the capital makes the experience far more bearable than it would be otherwise. 

They departed the Grey Tower on foot earlier that morning, he and Bobby and Rufus and King Charles. They stopped in Coldstream to acquire an extra horse for him, since he had none of his own. The people were overjoyed to see the king, but he had little time to spend among them. There were matters requiring his attention in Veridia. 

They ride in silence most of the way, but as they get closer to their destination, the mood lightens, and soon Rufus is whistling a jaunty tune that brings smiles to all of their faces. It’s so unlike his usual gruff sarcasm that Castiel can hardly believe he’s the one making those sounds.

“The walls!” Bobby calls out from his position at the front of their small party. “Your Majesty, the walls of the city are in sight.”

King Charles reaches into his saddlebags and removes his golden crown, placing it carefully on his head. “I think the people deserve a fine sight today, don’t they?” he asks the others.

Castiel laughs. “Yes, Your Majesty. It sends a strong message-- the king is returning in all his power to reclaim his throne.”

“Good.” King Charles nods resolutely. “On to the palace, then.”

Castiel’s mood brightens even further as they ride through the gates to the city, where they’re greeted by the cheers and joyful shouts of the people. The king smiles and waves graciously, accepting the love and honour given to him. 

A flower is tossed through the air and smacks Castiel right in the face, startling him. He presses it against his chest for a second, then throws it back to the crowd, who cheer even louder, bringing a flush to his cheeks.

The crowd grows as they wind through the city streets, trailing behind them as they make their way to the palace. At the gate to the palace grounds, they find four members of the Royal Guard standing at attention. Their posture is straight and proud, but smiles tug at the corners of their lips as they salute Bobby and Rufus, then bow to the king.

“The palace is secure, Your Majesty,” one of them says. 

“Thanks to your good work,” the king replies. “Come. Join my escort. There is no need to guard the gate today. All are welcome within the grounds.”

The guard stutters out her thanks, and she and the others fall into position behind the riders as they pass through the gate.

They ride up to the palace proper, where a small group of people is waiting to meet them. Castiel sees Kevin and Linda, Sam and Jess, and most importantly, Anna and Dean. He can’t stop himself from smiling, overwhelmed by his relief at finding them safe and whole. 

The king swings down from his horse, and the crowd bows in unison.

“Friends, please,” the king says, gesturing to them to rise. “Today is not a day to bow. Today is a day to stand proudly together, as we have done throughout this difficult time.”

He climbs the steps and enters the palace, most of the important figures following behind, while the crowd of citizens remains outside. 

Anna is among those to enter the palace behind the king, but she pauses to wink at Castiel before she does. He grins back at her, knowing that they will have time to catch up later.

Dean, however, waits for Castiel to join him in front of the palace doors. “It’s good to see you, Cas,” he murmurs.

“And you, Dean.” Castiel wants to embrace him, but he holds back, mindful of the crowd of people still gathered only a few feet away. 

“I guess we should go in, huh.” Dean’s gaze flicks over Castiel’s lips, and it’s clear that his thoughts are in the same place as Castiel’s. 

“I suppose so,” Castiel replies reluctantly.

They stare at each other for a second longer, and then--

“Just kiss already!” someone shouts from the crowd. 

Castiel, startled, turns to see who has spoken, but he’s distracted by the feeling of Dean’s large hand closing around his elbow, directing his focus back to the man standing in front of him. There’s a bright, brilliant grin on Dean’s face, and then he leans forward and kisses Castiel soundly.

The crowd is cheering again, delighted to see their favourite Captain of the Guard so happy, but Castiel barely hears him, too occupied with the press of Dean’s lips against his and the feeling of his arms wrapped so tightly around him. They break apart for a second, and Dean twirls him around dramatically, Castiel’s head falling back with laughter before he kisses Dean again. 

Dean rests his forehead against Castiel’s. “We did it,” he whispers.

Castiel nods, his throat tight. All the uncertainty, all the urgent conversations, all the frantic spellcasting, and here they are.

“We did,” he agrees. “But it’s not quite done yet.”

Dean’s face falls slightly, and he lets out a sigh. “I suppose not.”

“Come,” Castiel says, heading for the door. “We have a traitorous enchanter to deal with.”

Feeling rather uncharacteristically confident after that resounding kiss, Castiel takes hold of Dean’s hand as they walk through the corridors of the palace. Dean looks at him, surprised, but then adjusts the position of their hands so it’s more comfortable. 

They enter the grand audience chamber, where the king is already seated on his throne, looking particularly small against it. But he sits proudly, and his voice is commanding as he speaks to the others. 

“We’ve never had a trial of this sort,” Sam is explaining as Dean and Castiel join them. “Lawyers like myself, we handle the small things like inheritance claims, or property sales. This is treason.”

“Which is why we’ve called for the other Watchers to join us here,” the king explains. “Michael betrayed the kingdom, and myself as its ruler. But he also betrayed his own order. And so he will stand trial not only before me, but before the other Watchers. And together we will pass judgment upon him.”

Castiel already knew this, having contacted the others the night before in order to invite them to travel to the capital, but he still feels a thrill of excitement at the thought of finally meeting the others in person. He and Anna exchange smiles. It will be good for them to be together, to feel a sense of unity in spite of Michael’s treachery.

“They should be here within the hour,” the king continues, “and we will begin the trial shortly after their arrival. I wish this matter resolved as quickly as possible.”

“Can’t blame him for that,” Dean mutters. Castiel makes a noise of agreement. The sooner that this situation is fully dealt with, the sooner the kingdom can focus on rebuilding itself. 

“In the meantime,” the king says, his voice turning sombre, “there are other matters to be dealt with. Andrea Lafitte, please, come forward.”

Dean tenses, and Castiel squeezes his hand for comfort as a dark-haired woman approaches the throne. This must be Benny’s wife-- widow, now. There are lines of sadness etched around her eyes, but she remains composed as the king stands from his throne and stands before her.

“On behalf of the entire kingdom of Esporia, I offer my deepest condolences for the loss of your husband, Benny Lafitte. He gave his life in the service of the kingdom, and we surely would not have succeeded in reclaiming the throne without his sacrifice.”

The king reaches into his robe and withdraws a shining gold medal, passing it to Andrea, who clutches it tightly in her hand. “He will be remembered as a hero,” King Charles says, reaching out to wipe away the tears now trickling silently down her cheeks. 

She curtsies, only slightly wobbly, and another woman comes forward to take her arm and lead her from the room.

Castiel glances over at Dean, whose face is set, but there’s sorrow in the tightness around his mouth. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, wishing there was something more that he could offer, something else that he could say.

Dean scrubs his hand over his face and exhales shakily. “I miss him,” he admits. “I’ll miss him for the rest of my life. But it will get easier. Let’s just say I know from experience.”

Castiel nods, satisfied that Dean will be able to negotiate the grieving process. Some days will be worse than others, and Castiel plans to be by his side to offer what support he can on those days. 

There’s a slight commotion from the hall outside, and Dean whirls around, his hand on his scabbard. Castiel turns as well, though he has no weapon. 

As it turns out, a weapon is unnecessary. Three people stride into the room, travelling cloaks billowing behind them, followed by a few members of the Guard. 

Castiel’s heart-beat increases as he recognizes them. Hannah, Gabriel, and Balthazar make their way to the front of the room, where they sweep into low bows before the throne. 

“Welcome, Watchers,” the king says, his voice warm. “I am thankful that you have made the voyage to our city for this important task.”

“It’s nice to get out of the tower once in awhile,” Gabriel says with a laugh. 

Hannah looks at him sternly. “And it is our duty to hold Michael accountable for his actions,” she reminds him. 

Castiel grins. He’s pleased to see that they act just the same in person as they do when communicating via mirror. 

“Now that we are all here,” King Charles announces, “we will begin preparations for the trial. Watchers, I suggest you use this time to consult with one another. Commander Singer, please take your guards and bring Michael before us.”

Bobby salutes the king and departs, taking three of the guards with him. Surprisingly, Dean remains behind. 

“You don’t want to go with them?” Castiel asks.

Dean shakes his head. “No,” he says briefly. “Spent enough time with that asshole yesterday. Besides, I’ll probably need to testify. Might as well stay here and stay in the loop.”

Their conversation is interrupted by the other Watchers, including Anna, who come to join them. Dean shoots Castiel a small smile and takes a step back, giving them a chance to talk. 

“Castiel!” Balthazar exclaims, reaching out embrace him. Castiel returns the embrace just as enthusiastically. “I say, you’re even more handsome in person, you little scamp.”

“And so tall,” Gabriel jokes, fluttering his eyelashes. “You did good, kid.”

“I’m happy to finally meet you in person,” Hannah says, her smile softening her usually stern features. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” Castiel replies.

He’s thrilled to have them all here, of course, but more than anything, he’s still amazed that Anna is here among them. He turns to her, and she spreads her arms, and he walks right into her warm embrace.

Her arms are tight around him, and she still smells the same, like lavender and vanilla, both sweet and soothing. “I’m so proud of you, Castiel,” she murmurs, smoothing his hair away from his face in a tender gesture. 

“I had a good teacher,” he tells her, enjoying the way it makes her smile.

“You most certainly did,” she agrees. “You all did,” she says to the others. “Do not let Michael’s actions weaken your belief in what we do. His training may have allowed him to do what he did, but ours allowed us to stop it.”

“You may still want to consider a few changes,” Dean suggests, joining the conversation once more.

Anna looks at him, one red eyebrow raised in confusion. “Such as?”

Dean looks at Castiel nervously before continuing. “Well, I mean, the whole alone-in-your-tower thing didn’t really do anyone any favours here,” he says, his confidence growing as he speaks. “If there were people around more often, someone might have noticed what Michael was up to earlier.”

Gabriel gives Dean an impressed look. “I may have to stop thinking of you as just the pretty guard,” he says. 

Dean rolls his eyes and ignores his comment. “And you might want to think about having more than one apprentice at a time. More than one Watcher per domain, even. Think about how exhausted you get, doing all that spellwork. Having someone else to share the burden would be good for all of you.”

“You make some good points,” Hannah says thoughtfully. “Perhaps we have been too selfish with our magic all this time. It was supposed to keep the kingdom safe, doing things this way, but in light of recent events…”

“Maybe it’s time to consider new strategies,” Castiel finishes. He looks at Dean proudly. “Maybe it’s an outsider’s perspective that we’ve needed all this time.”

“But if I shared the tower with someone else, we’d have to negotiate decorating schemes,” Balthazar complains. 

Anna shoves him lightly. “Good,” she says. “I can only imagine how horrid your taste in interior design is.”

Dean snorts, and Castiel chuckles as well. It’s a lot to think about, changing the way the Watchers operate. But Hannah’s right. Their whole code of behaviour was based on keeping the kingdom safe, and now that it’s proven unsuccessful once, it’s only reasonable to doubt its efficacy.

Not enough to completely overthrow the order of Watchers, of course. Anna was also right when she said that Michael’s actions cannot be seen as completely reflective of the group as a whole. But there are still many changes that can be made while still preserving the original mission and duties that informed the creation of the Watchers and their towers in the first place.

“Well, we know for sure we’ll have to make some changes,” Anna says pensively. “Michael had no apprentice. There is no one to take up the mantle of Military Watcher. The post will remain unfilled for some time, I fear.”

Dean shrugs nonchalantly. “In the meantime, that’s what the Royal Guard is here for,” he states. “I think we’ve proven that we’re pretty useful in a fight, even if we don’t have magic.”

“That’s true,” Balthazar agrees. “We couldn’t have secured the king’s safety the way you did. Mobility does have its perks.”

Dean laughs. “Yes it does.”

And that is something else to consider as well. So much of this effort to restore King Charles to the throne depended on cooperation between the Watchers and the Guard. Perhaps in the future, the ties between them should be strengthened. They have the same goal, after all, and even though their strategies differ, Dean and Castiel are living proof that they can each benefit from the other’s knowledge. 

“We have a lot to think about, yes,” Hannah says, looking towards the back of the room. “But I think it will all have to wait a bit longer.”

Castiel turns to see what she’s looking at, and flinches at the sight. Michael is being escorted into the hall by four members of the Guard. His arm and wrists are bound, presumably to stop him from using magic. 

It’s a disturbing sight, seeing his once-proud figure brought so low. But Castiel feels no pity for him. Michael chose his own path. Now he is merely finding out that it did not end where he expected it to. 

“We would have gagged him as well, but he needs to be able to speak for the trial,” Anna says. “But he’ll be too tired at this point to attempt any magic.”

The king sits forward on his throne. “Thank you,” he says to the guards. “Everyone, please, take your seats.”

Castiel and the others slowly lower themselves onto the wooden benches that line the room. Michael remains standing in the centre of the room, all eyes on him.

“We are gathered here today to pass judgment upon this man,” the king continues, his voice colder than Castiel has ever heard it. “Let us begin.”

***

It’s a bit surreal, sitting beside five powerful magic users, watching as a sixth is put on trial for treason. Dean would never have guessed that he would find himself in a situation like this.

But it’s been a season of surprises, and most of them have been due to the man currently standing in the centre of the room, awaiting his sentence.

“Michael,” the king says, “you have admitted your own guilt in front of many of those assembled here during the confrontation that led to your capture. Do you have anything to say for yourself, before we decide your fate?”

Dean can only see Michael in profile from where they’re seated, but from what he can tell, his expression is murderous. 

“What more is there to say,” Michael says tightly. “You may have reclaimed your throne, Charles, but you and I both know that you will never recover from this blow. You will doubt yourself from this day forward, and that will be my eternal revenge.”

Well, he certainly has nerve, addressing the king by his first name without any honorifics. And Dean really hates to admit it, but he fears that Michael is right. King Charles has always been somewhat hard on himself, and he is likely to blame himself for this attempted coup. Dean vows to do his best to keep the king’s spirits high, to remind him that he is a loved and respected ruler.

“Be that as it may,” King Charles continues, “you will not be here to witness it.”

There’s a low hum of conversation from the crowd as they attempt to interpret the king’s statement. Is he suggesting that Michael will be executed? No one would blame the king for choosing such a punishment, but it would still be a surprise. Esporia is a peaceful land, and even Michael himself tried to avoid loss of life during his attacks.

The king holds up a hand to silence them. “Please, my friends, have patience. I ask Anna, former Weather Watcher, to come forward.”

Anna stands from her place on the bench and joins them in the centre of the room, ignoring the glares that Michael sends her way. She curtsies towards the king. “Your Majesty.”

“As a former Watcher, you are aware of the codes of conduct that govern the order,” the king says. “To the best of your knowledge, did this man break those codes?”

Anna looks over at Michael, and her face hardens. “He did, Your Majesty.”

“And again, to the best of your knowledge, did he do so willingly, without coercion from another?”

“He did, Your Majesty.”

“And finally...” The king hesitates, then continues. “Did he do so without the aid of any other members of the Order of Watchers?”

Dean feels the other sitting beside him come to attention. He knows that they are all innocent. The king knows that they are all innocent. But it has to be asked. The people must be reassured that they can trust the remaining Watchers.

“He did, Your Majesty,” Anna says firmly. “He acted alone.”

“Thank you, Anna,” the king says, dismissing her with a wave. “Next, I ask Captain Dean Winchester of the Royal Guard to come forward.”

Dean swallows nervously. He stands up, adjusting the folds of his uniform. Castiel looks up at him and gives him a little smile, just enough to bolster Dean’s confidence. He walks to the centre of the room and bows to the king, keeping plenty of distance between Michael and himself. 

“Captain Winchester, you have been involved in this affair nearly from its beginning, and I would like to take this opportunity to thank you for your courage and your leadership during this time.” The king keeps his voice neutral, as befits the seriousness of the situation, but Dean can read the fondness and gratitude in his eyes.

“Just doing my duty, sir,” Dean replies. 

“And in the course of doing your duty, you were injured by the creatures that perpetrated several attacks on our kingdom, correct?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“And you also led the mission that brought about their destruction?” the king confirms.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Do you feel confident that they have all been destroyed, and that we are safe from further attacks?”

Michael scoffs, but doesn’t say anything.

Dean looks at him, and hesitates. “I believe so,” he says carefully. “And even if there are more of them out there, they are only controlled by magic. Without someone telling them what to do, they’re just like any other pottery. Easy to break.”

“You think you’re so clever, destroying my puppets,” Michael mutters. “But real cleverness was me creating them in the first place.”

Dean really wants to punch him. But he’s still tied up, and there wouldn’t be much satisfaction in it. 

Surprisingly, it’s that comment that causes the king to lose his temper. “Cleverness?” he repeats, his eyes flashing dangerously. “That is not the word that I would choose, Michael.”

“I adapted the spell. I shaped them to my own design. And I did all of it without any of them noticing,” he sneers, looking at the other Watchers. 

“Well, that’s technically not true,” Dean points out. “Castiel did notice something when his mirror kept showing him the Falls. He just didn’t know what it meant.”

“Because I was being clever,” Michael answers, in the tone of one explaining something to a very small child. “You are punishing me for that. For being clever, and for being ambitious.”

“No, we are punishing you for betraying us in the highest sense of the word!” the king shouts. “You made these things out of the very earth of this kingdom, Michael. You took the land and you used it against itself, all for your own gain. The very thought of it sickens me.”

Dean hadn’t really thought about it that way before, but now that he’s heard it framed that way, Michael’s actions seem even worse. 

“Your duty was to protect the kingdom, not to take advantage of the powers you were entrusted with and use them to stage a coup that threatened the lives and security of the entire population.”

Michael sighs tiredly. “This conversation bores me,” he says. “I know what I did. Either kill me for it or shut up.”

This time, Dean really does move forward, intent on punching him, but the king shakes his head sharply, stopping him in his tracks. Dean seethes inwardly, but restrains himself. Michael will get his punishment soon enough.

The king waves Dean aside, and he returns to his seat, collapsing back onto the bench beside Castiel.  
“As much as it pains me, I agree with you,” the king says. “It is time to end this.” He raises his voice so that the entire room can hear him. “Are there any among you who doubt this man’s guilt? If so, I invite you to speak now.”

Dean has never heard a more complete silence in his life.

He looks over at Castiel and raises an eyebrow. Castiel smiles grimly back at him. Their plan to ensure that Michael was entirely discredited seems to have worked. 

“Michael, in front of all those assembled here, I find you guilty of high treason,” the king announces.

Michael doesn’t bother to reply.

“We have no precedent for sentencing a case like this,” the king continues. “Which is why I call upon the other Watchers to aid me in determining the appropriate punishment for this man.”

Dean looks at Castiel. It’s a heavy burden to place on them, but it also makes sense. Michael betrayed them just as much as he betrayed the king, so they ought to have a voice in how he is punished.

To Dean’s surprise, Hannah is the first to step forward. “In spite of all his various crimes, I do not wish to see him put to death,” she says. “I would prefer to see him live in the regret of knowing that he failed.”

“Harsh,” Dean whispers to Castiel, impressed. He’s not shocked that Hannah argued in favour of sparing Michael’s life-- being the Healing Watcher likely means that she has strong beliefs in the value of human life. But it seems as though that wasn’t part of her reasoning at all.

“I agree,” Balthazar says. “A lifetime in prison might suit him well.”

“As if that’s any different than the life of a Watcher,” Michael scoffs. “Shut up in those towers all day, no contact with the rest of the world other than you fools.”

“Oh, I think it would be quite different than the comfort of the Red Tower,” Balthazar says pleasantly. “Quite different indeed.”

“If he finds the idea of imprisonment too palatable, there’s always exile,” Gabriel suggests. “See what King Crowley makes of him.”

“He would just find a way to come crawling back like the worm that he is,” Castiel says, rising from his seat. 

Dean watches proudly as he joins the others in their deliberations. He’s magnificent, standing among them. So much power in such a small space. 

“I believe I may have the solution to that,” Anna says.

They all turn to look at her as she walks over to the centre of the room once more. 

“It’s an option given to all Watchers when we leave our posts,” she explains. “A spell, to selectively modify one’s memories. Specifically used to scrub the mind of any acquired magical knowledge.”

Dean frowns as he considers the implications of Anna’s statement. Michael would be alive, and free, but powerless. It would take him years before he would regain what he would lose, and if he was not given access to the proper materials, it would take even longer.

“No,” Michael says, his face going pale. “You cannot do this. You cannot do this!”

Judging by the expressions on the faces of the king and the other Watchers, Michael just made up their minds for them. If this is the punishment that horrifies him the most, then it is the most fitting one.

“Take away what he thinks makes him so special,” the king muses. “Let him see how ordinary he truly is. How alone he feels without his magic. Yes, this seems fair to me.”

“I still say we exile him,” Gabriel mutters stubbornly. “I figured it out. Why the wild hare population was down. All those tunnels he dug up interfered with their burrows. He has no respect for this land or any of its living inhabitants. Modify his memories, yes, and then send him away.”

The king shrugs. “I have no objections to this, if it is the will of the Watchers.”

They all trade glances, and one by one they nod. 

“Yes, it is our will,” Anna answers for them. “And fortunately enough, I came prepared.”

There’s a murmur of interest from the crowd as Anna reaches into her small leather satchel and begins withdrawing what Dean recognizes as ingredients for a spell. He remembers how he felt the first time he saw Castiel use magic, and isn’t surprised at the crowd’s reaction. 

He watches, fascinated, as Anna distributes bundles of herbs and finely-ground powders to the other four. She sends one of the guards for a bowl for them to mix their ingredients in, which is fetched quickly and accepted with thanks.

Dean is so caught up in the proceedings that he almost doesn’t notice Michael edging slowly towards the small door at the side of the room. When he does, he lets out a shout, and everyone’s attention turns to him. Michael swears and makes a run for it, but he’s still weak from the overuse of his magic, and Dean catches him easily. 

“Not so fast,” Dean warns, gripping him by the shoulders and steering him back to the centre of the room. “You’re not getting out of this one.”

Michael mutters something under his breath, and Dean doubts that it’s a compliment. He tightens his hold on the other man, resolving to keep him in place until the spell is complete. 

The Watchers finish their preparations and come to stand in a circle around Michael, and by default, Dean. “Uh, this isn’t going to affect me, is it?” he asks nervously.

“Not at all,” Anna reassures him. “You just focus on not letting him get away.”

Dean’s pretty sure he can manage that much.

Anna starts to chant, and one by one, the others join her, until their voices are all raised in unison, repeating words that Dean doesn’t understand. She holds the bowl in front of her, and snaps her fingers over it, setting the ingredients inside on fire. 

Then, as the others continue to chant, she steps forward and holds the bowl in front of Michael’s face, letting it waft over him. After a few seconds, he goes limp in Dean’s hold, his head lolling forward like a puppet whose strings have been cut. 

The chanting stops, and Anna passes the bowl back to Gabriel. She claps her hands together sharply. “Awake!” she commands. 

Michael stirs, and pulls himself upright. Dean takes a step back to let him stand on his own, though he’s still poised to catch him if he decides to try running again.

“Curse you,” Michael says weakly. “Curse you all.”

That’s evidence enough for Dean that the spell worked.

The Watchers return to their seats, but Dean stays where he is, keeping a careful eye on Michael. He still doesn’t trust him, even if he no longer has any magical abilities. 

“And now it’s my turn,” the king says grimly. “Michael, you are hereby stripped of your title of Military Watcher, and denied access to the Red Tower. Furthermore, you are banished forthwith from the kingdom of Esporia, from this day until your last. You will be escorted to the border with Infernia and left there. If you attempt to return to Esporia, you will find no mercy here.”  
At last, Michael finally seems defeated. He nods wearily, and makes no protest, no snide remark. 

“Commander Singer, please provide four members of the Guard to escort Michael to the border,” the king continues. 

Dean’s about to speak up to volunteer for the mission, but the king shakes his head at him. “No, Captain Winchester, you will not be going.”

Dean frowns. Doesn’t the king trust him with this task?

King Charles smiles slightly. “I think, after all that you’ve done, you deserve a rest,” he says gently. “Let someone shoulder some of the burden, my friend.”

There’s a slight ripple of laughter from the room. Dean sighs and accepts the king’s judgment, bowing and returning to his seat and Bobby and a few other come forward to lead Michael away.

“Good riddance,” he hears Balthazar mutter as he joins them at the side of the room once more. 

They watch quietly as Michael leaves the room, surrounded by guards. It could be a feint, an attempt to lull them into a false sense of security before making another escape attempt, but Dean doesn’t think so. He’s fairly certain that Michael lost his ambition when he lost his magical knowledge. 

Once they’ve disappeared from sight, the king lets out a sigh of relief. “I am glad to be done with that unpleasantness,” he says. “And glad to say that from this point forward, we only have good work to do. The work of rebuilding, and of restoring our homes and lives to their former appearances.”

“Excuse me, Your Majesty?” Kevin Tran asks timidly.

“Yes, Kevin?” the king says, offering him a kind smile, which only seems to make Kevin more nervous.

“Who will be the Military Watcher now?”

Dean isn’t surprised that someone raised that question, though it was perhaps sooner than he would have predicted. 

The king considers this for a moment. “It is not my place to decide,” he says eventually, “but if the Watchers have no candidate in mind, I have one to suggest.”

Castiel and the others exchange glances, but no one speaks up.

“Very well,” the king says. “Captain Winchester, you have served the Royal Guard faithfully for many years. You are one of the city’s most trusted and beloved figures. I think it would do us some good to see someone like you in this position, after Michael’s betrayal. What say you?”

Dean’s jaw drops open in shock. The entire room is looking at him, and he feels Castiel tense beside him. 

He never dreamed of being a Watcher. He never really cared about the ability to do magic. He knows the king has a valid point, and his experience certainly qualifies him for the position. But Dean doesn’t want a lonely life in a tower filled with books. He wants to be where he has always been, on the ground, doing his part to help people in whatever small way possible.

And besides, he has other plans. He looks at Castiel, who’s twisting his hands nervously in his lap. They’ve still never really gotten a chance to let this thing between them develop. If he shuts himself away in the Red Tower, they never will. 

Dean makes his decision. “I’m honoured, Your Majesty,” he says loudly. “But I fear I must decline.”

Castiel’s head snaps up, and he looks at Dean, his blue eyes wide. Dean winks at him. “I’m not cut out for a life of solitude,” he says cheekily, and the crowd laughs. Castiel looks relieved.

“Very well,” the king says graciously.

Anna stands and clears her throat. “I’ve found it rejuvenating, being a part of this community again,” she says. “If there are no objections, I will take up the title temporarily, and begin the search for an apprentice. Once they are fully trained, I will retire once more.”

The other Watchers smile and nod at her statement, obviously satisfied with the notion. “You’ve proven your value many times these past few days,” the king says. “So be it.”

“With that matter resolved as well, then,” he says, looking around the room, “I suggest you all follow my example and return to your homes for a long nap.”

The room bursts into cheers and applause. Dean joins in, throwing his head back in laughter as Balthazar picks up a somewhat stiff Hannah and twirls her around. 

It feels good to be happy again. More than that, to feel like it might be here to stay for awhile, rather than be snatched away by some grave new development. Slowly, the crowd begins to disperse, people still chattering excitedly as they drift through the corridors of the palace.

Sam and Jess come over to join them, and introductions are made. “So,” Sam says with a grin, “we’re heading back to our house today, we think. We got most of the debris cleared. And we thought you’d appreciate the privacy.”

Sam and Jess had spent the previous night at Dean’s new house, since their own had sustained far worse damage during the attack on the city. He isn’t sure what Sam means about privacy though-- oh. He catches the meaningful look Sam is giving at him, indicating Castiel with a sharp jerk of his head.

“Shut up,” Dean mutters, positive that he’s blushing. “But, uh, thanks.”

The others are watching in amusement, and Dean’s pretty sure Gabriel is about his mouth to make some smart remark when Anna hushes them. 

“I believe the king had chambers prepared for us,” she says, leading them away with a wink at Dean and Castiel. “We could all use the rest.”

After a round of hugs, Sam and Jess depart as well. Dean clears his throat awkwardly. “So, you wanna get out of here?” he asks, and cringes at his own turn of phrase.

Castiel either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care. “Yes,” he answers gravely.

“Great!” Dean says brightly. “Let’s go, then.”

“To your house?” Castiel checks, a smile playing around his lips.

“Yes? Unless you wanted to go somewhere else,” Dean says worriedly. Was he assuming too much? “I’m sure there’s room for you here, this place is huge, I can ask someone...”

“Dean,” Castiel says firmly. “I would very much like to see your house. And your bed.”

Dean stops talking. He reaches out and takes hold of Castiel’s hand, and he leads him out the front doors, across the grounds, out the gate, and down the street to his small house. 

He’s never been so glad that his new house is so close to the palace.


	18. Chapter 18

Dean keeps hold of his hand, pulling him down the city streets, looking back every few seconds as though checking to make sure Castiel is still there. Castiel understands the feeling. It’s tempting to say that this feels too good to be true, especially after all they’ve gone through over the past few weeks.

But maybe, this is their reward.

Dean halts outside of a small, inconspicuous house, nothing to set it apart from the others on the quiet street. He unlocks the door with shaking hands, which Castiel notes, flattered that he’s having such an effect on the other man. So he figures he may as well have some fun with it, and drapes himself along Dean’s back as he struggles to get the door open, making Dean curse at the unexpected contact.

The door swings open and they enter the house eagerly, Castiel still pressed tightly against Dean. As soon as the door is shut, however, he spins them around, crowding Dean back against the solid wood. 

“Hello, Dean,” he says, letting his voice go as deep and dark as possible.

Those lovely green eyes are already glazing over with desire as Dean stares back at him, his breath coming quicker as Castiel slowly and deliberately rocks his hips forward so that they’re pressed together along the entire length of their bodies.

“It was very kind of your family to ensure we had the house to ourselves,” Castiel continues casually. “Maybe we won’t even need the bed.”

Dean’s head tips back against the door with a thunk as he lets out a little whine. “Cas,” he breathes. 

Castiel chuckles and takes pity on him, leaning forward to capture his lips in a kiss. Dean responds eagerly, bringing his hands up to grip Castiel by the waist. He didn’t think it was possible for them to get any closer, but somehow, they manage it. 

Castiel can’t think of a spell that gives him even a fraction of the rush that Dean’s kiss does. It’s electric, like miniature versions of the lightning bolts he summons are racing through his veins, coursing through his entire body. It’s heady and addictive and Castiel never wants it to end. 

Dean pulls away, and Castiel pouts, feeling cheated. Dean laughs and kisses him again, quickly, with a fondness that makes Castiel’s heart tighten in his chest. It’s more than mere physical chemistry between them, he knows. 

“Cas,” Dean repeats, a bit more firmly this time. “Trust me, I am very happy to be ravished up against my own front door. But, if you’re amenable, the things I want to do with you require some, uh, supplies, that I keep in the bedroom.”

Castiel blinks at him for a second, his lust-fogged brain trying to make sense of Dean’s words. Dean waits patiently while he puts the pieces together, his warm hands sliding up and down Castiel’s back.

“Oh,” Castiel breathes, as Dean’s meaning sinks in. “Oh, yes, please.”

Dean smirks at him. “Thought you might feel that way.”

Castiel steps back. “Lead the way.”

Dean chuckles. “It’s a small house, I’m sure you would have figured it out,” he calls over his shoulder as he guides Castiel towards the small bedroom at the back of the house. 

“Perhaps,” Castiel acknowledges, “But I find I quite enjoy the view when I walk behind you.”

Dean’s shoulders shake with laughter as he pushes open the door to his bedroom. Eventually, Castiel will examine it, looking to see what it reveals about Dean, but for now, all he cares about is the bed. 

Dean pulls the curtains across the window. “You never know who might be walking by,” he says with a laugh. “But now it’s a bit dark in here.”

Castiel snaps his fingers, and the large candle on the bedside table lights up. “Problem solved.”

“How convenient,” Dean grins. He throws himself onto the bed and wiggles his eyebrows at Castiel playfully. “So what are you still doing standing over there?”

Castiel pauses. He’s dreamed of this so many times. They’re not stealing kisses between strategy meetings, or enjoying a night together knowing that one of them will be leaving in the morning. For once, they have _time_. 

So he ever-so-slowly pulls his cloak from his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a whisper of cloth. Then he unties the laces at the throat of his shirt, noting the way Dean’s breath hitches as he watches. It’s intoxicating, knowing that he can affect Dean this way. 

“Cas,” Dean whines again, sitting up in the middle of the bed. “This isn’t fair.”

Castiel arches an eyebrow at him. “Fair? Nobody’s stopping you.”

Dean nods, conceding the point, and promptly pulls his tunic over his head, leaving him bare-chested, the candlelight flickering over his skin, turning it to gold. 

Maybe Castiel shouldn’t have given him that idea. Now that Dean is sitting there with so much warm flesh exposed, Castiel can’t help but abandon his plan of keeping his distance until all his clothes were removed. He crawls across the bed and throws himself at Dean, who falls back against the pillows with a happy shout. 

“You,” Castiel says, dropping a kiss onto his collarbone, “are completely,” another kiss, “utterly,” a third, “irresistible.”

Dean giggles. “Knew I could break you,” he says smugly, but then yelps as Castiel closes his lips over one nipple, sucking it lightly into his mouth. 

“I repeat, not fair,” Dean mumbles. 

Castiel beams down at him. “Do you want an apology?” he teases.

Dean looks intrigued. “Depends on the apology.”

Castiel has always loved a challenge. So he sits back slightly, and begins kissing his way down Dean’s chest, taking his time. He layers kisses into the soft skin of Dean’s stomach, thrilling at the way it makes him squirm. 

He catches sight of the faint scar left behind by the sword Dean took to the side. The wound that brought them together, Castiel realizes. He kisses it, letting his lips linger, and feels Dean run his fingers through his hair softly, perhaps in acknowledgement.

He moves his mouth even lower, pausing right above the bulge in Dean’s trousers, letting his breath warm him. He makes Dean wait a for few moments, then carefully undoes the laces that keep his trousers up, and pulls them slowly down his thighs, along with his undergarments. 

He’s so beautiful. His strong shoulders, well-muscled arms, broad chest. The slight softness of his stomach and the beautiful curve of his legs. Castiel marvels at the sight of him, stretched out on his bed, completely naked, a contented smile on his face. Trusting Castiel to do with him as he pleases. 

Dean is breathing fast, but he stays silent as Castiel takes him in his mouth. His hips lift off the bed, and Castiel moves one hand to his waist to keep him in place, the other holding the base of his shaft. He pulls back, letting Dean’s cock slip free of his lips, then takes him back in again, as deeply as he can. 

“Fuck,” Dean says shakily, his hands clutching desperately at the sheets beneath him. “Cas, your mouth…”

Castiel lets out a little hum that makes Dean moan. So he does it again. He’s shifting his own hips against the mattress, seeking some relief, needing the friction against his own hard cock. 

Dean must notice, because he reaches down and pulls Castiel up, dragging him into a rough kiss. “Lose the trousers,” he demands, his voice hoarse.

Castiel doesn’t hesitate to obey. His trousers join the rest of their clothing in the pile on the floor, and finally, they’re both naked.

He straddles Dean’s hips, adjusting his position that their erections are aligned, then leans down to kiss him again, letting his hips snap forward as he does. Dean’s big hands clutch tightly at his waist, grinding them together, making them both breathless. 

“Cas,” Dean pants. “I want…”

Castiel is fairly certain he knows what Dean wants, but he needs to hear him say it, both to be sure, and because he just wants to hear the words spill from Dean’s mouth. 

“I want you inside me,” Dean manages to say. “Please, Castiel.”

Castiel groans. It’s been so long since he was that close to another person, and to know that Dean wants that from him, wants to be so deeply entwined with him...how could Castiel possibly refuse?

Dean reaches out and opens the drawer of the bedside table, reaching inside for a small glass jar. He passes it to Castiel with a little smile. “Sometimes a man just needs to take care of himself, you know,” he says.

That is an absolutely delightful image to consider, Dean spread out on this bed, his own fingers inside himself. Castiel makes a mental note to ask for a live demonstration at some point in the future. But for now…

He opens the jar and spreads the lubricant over his fingers. Dean folds his arms behind his head, looking completely at ease, and there’s so much trust in his eyes when he looks up at Castiel. Castiel just has to kiss him again.

He trails kisses across Dean’s cheek, down the line of his jaw, and down the gorgeous length of his neck while he carefully spreads Dean’s legs further apart, making room to settle himself between them. Then he reaches down with his slick hand and gently rubs over his entrance, just the barest amount of pressure.

“Go on,” Dean encourages him. “I want to feel you.”

Castiel presses his finger inside slowly, feeling Dean’s body open to him. He’s warm and tight on the inside, and Castiel shudders, already imagining how wonderful it will feel when he sinks into him completely. He withdraws his finger, then pushes it back in, a little further this time.

“Good?” he checks.

“So good,” Dean breathes. “Give me more.”

Castiel chuckles. “So bossy,” he admonishes, but he does as Dean requests, adding a second finger, feeling the way he stretches around it. He scissors his fingers back and forth, opening him up further, and Dean makes a beautiful noise, somewhere between a gasp and a sigh. 

He’s so responsive. Castiel watches his face, rapt, as he crooks his fingers, searching for that one spot...and Dean’s whole body shakes as he finds it. He repeats the motion, and while Dean is lost to the pleasure of it, he adds a third finger.

Dean is completely unravelled. There’s a flush across his entire body, visible even in the faint light of the flickering candle, and his eyes look as dark as the deepest woods. “Please,” he says shakily. 

Castiel withdraws his fingers and reaches for the lubricant again, slicking up his own hard length, sighing with relief at the feel of his hand on his heated flesh. “Like this?” he asks Dean gently, running his free hand over his thigh, feeling it tremble under his touch. 

“Want to see you,” Dean mumbles, reaching up to pull Castiel’s face back towards his for another kiss.

Castiel kisses him as deeply as he can, pouring all of his affection and admiration into it, as he shifts Dean’s legs slightly and lines himself up. He presses forward, and Dean groans as he enters him fully.

They’re both still for a moment, adjusting to the incredible sensation of being so tightly joined, and then Dean flexes his hips, causing Castiel to shift inside him. It’s overwhelming, the warmth and pressure of him.

Dean moves again, and Castiel mimics him this time, thrusting into him slowly at first, but gradually picking up speed. “You feel incredible,” he sighs, unable to hold back his emotions.

“Could say the same to you,” Dean gasps out. “Cas, sweetheart…”

Castiel chokes back a moan at the endearment. It’s so unexpected and yet so perfectly Dean-- he’s always had that core of tenderness beneath his carefree exterior. 

He has no words to say back to him. Castiel is accustomed to speaking in foreign languages, to using his words to create rain on an otherwise sunny day, not to tell someone that they are appreciated, that they are cared for. He doesn’t know how to express what Deans means to him with a single word, so he doesn’t even try for that same simplicity. 

“Dean,” he whispers. “I’m so glad that I met you. I’m so glad that we’re both here.”

Dean laughs shakily. “Oh, Cas, we have got to work on your dirty talk.”

Castiel chuckles. “Another time,” he promises, with a particularly hard thrust that makes Dean moan loudly. “Because I plan on being with you like this again and again and again.”

“Yes,” Dean agrees, his breathing laboured. “Yes.”

It’s a promise, then. Knowing that there will be other chances, other times they can make it last longer, Castiel increases his pace. He reaches between them and wraps his hand around Dean’s hard cock, feeling him twitch in his hand.

“I’m close,” Dean gasps out.

He’s so lovely like this. Castiel will never forget this sight, Dean teetering on the brink of orgasm, his gaze locked on Castiel. With another movement of his hips, Dean is coming, spilling over Castiel’s hand, his whole body going soft and lax in the aftermath.

It won’t take long for Castiel to follow him. Dean looks up at him through half-lidded eyes. “Come on, Cas,” he coaxes, and Castiel’s hips stutter. “Come for me.”

Castiel throws his head back and comes, slamming his hips into Dean a final time, so they’re as closely joined as two people can be. Then he slumps forward to lay on his chest, heedless of the mess between them, overcome by the intensity of his climax.

Dean chuckles, smoothing a hand through his hair. “Doing magic always tires you out, doesn’t it?”

Castiel raises his head glares at him. “Magic?” he scoffs. “To suggest that I rely on spells to bring you sexual satisfaction? Dean, I’m deeply wounded.”

“Oh, come on, Cas, I’ve been waiting to make that joke for ages,” Dean says, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“If I wanted to do magic, it would be now, to clean us up,” Castiel grumbles, heaving himself off Dean and grabbing the closest item of clothing from the scattered piles on the floor. He kisses Dean quickly before using it to wipe them both down, then tosses it aside again.

Dean hums in contentment as Castiel drapes himself over him again. “You know you don’t need magic to make me happy, right?” he asks.

“I know,” Castiel tells him. 

“Not that I would say no to that fun trick with the warm hands making another appearance,” Dean adds thoughtfully.

“Maybe someday,” Castiel replies, reaching down to pull the covers up over them both. “But for now, I need to rest. And so do you.”

“Mmn-hmn,” Dean agrees, closing his eyes and arranging his arms around Castiel, clinging to him tightly. They’re both still naked, their skin damp with sweat, but Castiel doesn’t care. Nothing has ever felt more right. 

Dean falls asleep first, his breathing slowly evening out, his chest rising and falling softly. Castiel watches him for a few moments, a soft smile playing across his features. This beautiful man. He made such an unexpected appearance in Castiel’s life, but now he can hardly imagine a future without him in it. 

They’ve been through much together. Quite possibly, there will be even more difficult situations they will have to negotiate in the future. But if this is part of it-- curled up together in a soft bed, their limbs entwined-- then Castiel thinks that they will be alright. That it will be worth it.

He leans over and blows out the candle, and he falls asleep with his head pillowed on Dean’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart as he drifts off.

***

Dean wakes up to the sound of a knock at the door. It’s soft, almost hesitant, but he hears it anyways. Years of training have made him a very light sleeper. Castiel stirs in the bed beside beside him, but doesn’t wake.

Dean grabs his robe from the back of the door, and after a moment’s hesitation, picks up his sword from where he left it earlier that day, abandoned in the entryway. He hopes desperately that it isn’t bad news as he pulls open the door.

He sighs with relief as he sees the young guard on the other side of the door, silhouetted against the darkening sky. “Krissy, isn’t it?” he asks, relaxing. “Am I needed for duty?” They slept for a while, obviously, and it’s now early evening.

“Oh, no, Captain,” the young woman rushes to explain. “I was just sent to bring you this.” She holds up a bottle of red wine with an ornate jewelled stopper. “Compliments of the king.”

Bewildered, Dean takes the bottle from her. “There was no other message?”

Krissy grins and salutes. “Nope,” she says. 

“Thanks, Krissy,” Dean says, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. Huh. The king is sending him wine now-- is it in thanks or congratulations? Or possibly both? Dean shrugs and closes the door.

He fetches two crystal glasses from the kitchen, part of a set that belonged to his parents, given to them on their wedding day. Then he takes the wine and glasses back to the bedroom, pausing in the doorway to look at Cas, still asleep in the bed. 

He sets the wine and glasses down on the bedside table, then ruffles Castiel’s hair to wake him. Castiel grumbles something unintelligible and burrows further under the blankets, making Dean grin. What a grump.

“Come on, Cas,” he coaxes. “I brought wine. Worth waking up for, hmn?”

There’s a short pause, and then Castiel’s head emerges from the blankets, his hair a wild mess. “Wine?” he repeats sleepily. 

“From the king,” Dean says, settling onto the bed beside him. “Just delivered.”

Castiel blinks at him blearily. “Is this some sort of strange blessing upon our unofficial union?”

“That’s what I was thinking. Or just a thank-you for helping him reclaim his throne. Either way,” Dean shrugs, “we might as well enjoy it.”

He lights the candle again, using matches this time, since Castiel doesn’t look like he’s about to move at all, let alone do even that simplest bit of magic. 

Dean doesn’t mind, honestly. He’s quite happy to have Castiel here, in his bed, the candlelight illuminating the sharp cut of his cheekbones, casting shadows over his bare chest as he sits up against the headboard with the sheets tangled around his waist. 

“Dean,” Castiel says firmly. “I was promised wine. Stop staring at me and pour.”

Maybe he did get a little bit distracted. But who could blame him? He opens the wine and pours two glasses, then carefully replaces the stopper and puts it back on the table. He passes one glass to Castiel, who accepts it graciously.

“Well,” Dean says, feeling only slightly foolish, “here’s to us.”

“To us,” Castiel echoes, his gaze warm and fond. They each take a sip, and then Castiel pats the space beside him, indicating that Dean should join him there. 

Making sure not to spill his wine, which is delicious, Dean repositions himself so he and Castiel are sitting side by side at the head of the bed. He lets his himself relax against the pillows, feeling lazy and comfortable. 

Castiel hums in appreciation as he sips his wine. “This is excellent,” he comments. “The king was very generous with his gift.”

“So either he’s really grateful, or he’s really happy for us,” Dean laughs. “Still, it’s nice. Knowing that you’re appreciated, and supported.”

A thoughtful expression crosses Castiel’s face. “Yes,” he agrees, but there’s something slightly off about his tone. 

Dean hopes he hasn’t upset him inadvertently. Just when things were going so well…

“Cas?” he asks tentatively. “Did I say something wrong?”

Castiel shrugs, an elegant movement made all the more interesting by the fact that he’s still shirtless, but Dean tries to focus on the conversation rather than on the play of muscles in his shoulder as it moves. 

“Come on, talk to me,” he says. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Castiel take another sip of wine before replying. “It’s not that something’s wrong,” he replies. “It’s just, what you said about being appreciated, and supported… you’re right, it is nice to know. But when I go back to the Grey Tower, and I’m alone again, I worry that it won’t be enough.”

Dean gives this the careful consideration that it deserves. He forgets, sometimes, that these few weeks have been full of upheaval for Castiel, whose life used to follow a very neat and predictable schedule. He assumed that Castiel would be excited to return to his tower, to his books and his spells, but he didn’t think about what it would mean in terms of his seclusion from the others he’s spent so much time with over the past few weeks. 

“Not ready to be alone again, huh,” he says softly.

Castiel shakes his head sadly. “I’m not sure I ever will be again,” he admits. “I always thought I was fine on my own. But now, having experienced all this, I don’t think I would be if I tried it again.”

Part of Dean wants to pull Castiel close and tell him that he doesn’t have to be alone, that he could join him in his tower, that they could live there together. But Dean turned down an opportunity to become a Watcher because he didn’t want a life of isolation for himself. No matter how much he wants to make things easier for Castiel, he can’t simply give up his own livelihood, his own friends and family.

“Well,” he suggests instead, “we did talk about making some changes to the way the Watchers work.”

“Yes, as a sort of far-off, nebulous future plan,” Castiel says, giving him a strange look. “Not something to implement now.”

“Why not?” Dean challenges. “Why shouldn’t this be the time that you make changes? Things are already a bit off with Anna filling in as Military Watcher.”

Castiel frowns, but Dean can see that he’s giving the idea serious consideration. “I could take an apprentice,” he says slowly.

“Maybe even two,” Dean adds, warming to the idea. “Or more, if you’re willing to teach them. Then once they’re fully trained, you can have a rotation of duties, like we do in the Guard. So you don’t get as tired and as lonely. Break up the year into chunks, and trade responsibilities back and forth.”

“It would be nice not to have to stay in the tower all the time,” Castiel muses. “And as long as at least one of us was in residence, it wouldn’t be that different from now.”

“And if something ever did go wrong, wouldn’t it be good to have extra spellcasters around to help out? Think of how much Anna did, these last few days. Do you think we would have succeeded without her?”

Castiel shakes his head. “Almost certainly not.”

“So, the more the merrier, huh?”

“But not too merry,” Castiel replies. “We still need some control, some system of checks and balances against people who want to use magic for their own personal gain.”

He doesn’t say _like Michael did_ , but he might as well have. And Dean agrees. Too many people running around with that kind of power could be disastrous. 

“It would still mean a long time spent training new apprentices,” Castiel says, his voice going sad again. “A long time that I would be...required elsewhere.”

It’s a fair point. But Dean thinks there’s a solution. There’s always a solution. 

“So I come visit you there,” he says casually. “What, you’re going to try to enforce the no-outsider-in-the-tower rule? Now?”

Castiel lets out a startled laugh. “No, I suppose that would be rather nonsensical. But...you would do that?”

“Of course I would,” Dean says earnestly. “Cas, of course I would.”

He doesn’t know what he’s been doing wrong if Castiel doesn’t think he would be willing to make an easy half-day’s ride to spend time with him. 

“I didn’t want to assume,” Castiel admits, sounding shy. “It’s all still so new, this thing between us.”

“I know.” And Dean does know. He has a tendency to fall hard and fast for people, but even then, he’s never felt this way about anyone else before. “But it doesn’t make it any less real.”

“I would never ask you to give up your life here for me, Dean,” Castiel tells him, his expression serious. 

Dean reaches down and takes his hand. “And I would never ask you to leave your tower behind permanently for me,” he says. “I’m glad we established that.”

“But maybe--” Castiel hesitates. 

“What?” Dean asks. “Come on, Cas. Tell me what you’re thinking. This is the time to let all our dreams be spoken.”

It’s not the kind of thing he does with just anyone, have this type of conversation. He almost never opens up like this, but with Castiel, it comes naturally. Maybe because for once, he believes that the things they speak of have a chance of coming true. Because he knows they’ll both fight to make those dreams a reality. 

“Maybe we could meet halfway,” Castiel suggests.

“What, like, Fallowfield or something?” Dean asks. “Yeah, sure. They’ve got a nice inn there.”

Castiel bites his lip, then shakes his head. “Not an inn,” he says quietly. “Somewhere for just us.”

Dean blinks at him as his meaning sinks in. Their own house. Bought or built just for the two of them. A refuge from the roles and responsibilities they both have.

Dean wants that so badly that he could cry.

“Yeah,” he says roughly. “Yeah, Cas, that sounds good.”

“Not that I would mind spending time with you here as well,” Castiel continues, looking around the room. “After all, I already have very fond memories of this house.”

“Just like I have fond memories of your tower,” Dean grins. 

“I should hope so,” Castiel says. “But this house, my tower, they’re both tied to what we are. The Watcher and the Captain of the Guard. I want somewhere that we can just be us. Dean and Castiel.”

“Dean and Castiel,” Dean echoes. “That sounds perfect.”

It does have a nice ring to it. A sense of rightness. Like Sam and Jess, or Charlie and Gilda. A good rhythm, pleasing to the ear.

Their glasses are almost empty, so Dean takes a second to refill them, trying to keep his hands steady to prevent any spills. They’re talking about big, life-changing decisions here. Plans for their future. But it doesn’t scare him the way he thought it might. Instead, it fills him with excitement. He feels like his heart could burst right out of his chest, it’s so full of happiness. 

He passes the glass back to Castiel, and holds his own up for another toast.

“What shall we toast to this time?” Castiel asks.

Dean clears his throat. “To our future,” he says.

Castiel’s eyes go soft. “To our future,” he repeats, taking his first sip.

Dean watches the movement of his throat as he swallows, the way his tongue darts out to catch a drop of wine that threatens to spill over the edge of his glass. He really wants to kiss him, to taste the wine on his lips, until their mouths are dark from the wine and bruised from each other’s kisses. 

He reaches out and takes Castiel’s glass away from him, setting it beside his own on the table. Castiel starts to protest, but Dean cuts him off with a kiss, and that must be acceptable to him, because he winds his hands into Dean’s hair and pulls him closer. 

Dean goes happily, sliding sideways on the bed until he’s practically in Castiel’s lap. As he suspected, the wine tastes even better from Castiel’s lips. They kiss for a few minutes, and Dean luxuriates in the feeling of Castiel’s bare skin against his, the fact that all he had to do was reach out and he was there. 

He wants that to be a common thread in his life. Castiel, close beside him. 

So he tells him that. 

“I like having you here,” he says between kisses. “I liked being in your tower with you too. And I can’t wait to have a house for just the two of us. I just want to be where you are, as much as possible.”

Castiel smiles slyly up at him. “And when we can’t be, I do have a voice-projection spell that we may find convenient,” he reminds Dean. “You did say I needed to work on my dirty talk, after all.”

Dean groans, his head falling back against the headboard. “You are incredible,” he says fervently. “The things you do to me…”

“The feeling’s mutual, let me assure you,” Castiel informs him, shifting slightly so that Dean can feel the hard line of his erection pressing up against Dean’s leg.

Dean chokes back a laugh. “Yeah?” he says, moving closer, swinging his leg over Castiel’s hip so that he’s straddling him properly. “And what feeling would that be, exactly?” He shifts forward so Castiel can feel him as well, relishing the friction between them. 

“The one where I--” Dean presses against him for a second, then retreats. “The one where I am really quite mad about you.”

“Oh, that one,” Dean says, smiling wickedly at him. He lets his robe fall off his shoulders, noting the way Castiel’s eyes track the movement of his shoulders as he does. “That’s a good feeling.”

“Yes,” Castiel says breathlessly, his hands coming up to grip Dean by the hips. “A very good feeling.”

Dean thrusts against him, their cocks trapped between their bodies, a delicious tension building inside him. “Cas,” he sighs out. “Yeah, Cas, just like that.”

The sheets have been pushed aside so there’s nothing between them now, just warm skin on warm skin, hands roving all over each other as they move together. Dean can feel his orgasm approaching, so he leans down to kiss Castiel again, sloppy and uncoordinated, but Castiel doesn’t seem to mind.

He pushes himself forward one last time and goes still, his whole body singing with pleasure as he comes. And Castiel follows him only seconds behind, his hands holding Dean’s hips so tightly he suspects he’ll find bruises there later. 

He can’t bring himself to care. It’s the good kind of bruise, after all. 

He rolls off Castiel and onto his back beside him, more than slightly out of breath. Castiel props himself up on one elbow and peers down at him. “Are you broken?” he teases.

“Yep,” Dean mumbles. “You’re going to have fix me up again, like you did the first time. Take care of me, make me all better.”

“And what about me, hmn?” Castiel asks, tracing abstract patterns on Dean’s chest with his fingertips. “What about when I’m sick, or tired, or injured, or worn out from enthusiastic sex? You have no magical healing powers.”

“Maybe not,” Dean admits, catching hold of Castiel’s hands and pressing a kiss to his palm. “But I make good soup. I have plenty of warm blankets, because coziness is very important to me. And I won’t even complain if you’re cranky and grumpy, because that’s pretty much typical behaviour for you.”

It sounds like a promise. Like a statement of intent. He certainly means it that way, and he hopes Castiel can tell. Judging by the fondness in his eyes, he can.

There’s only thing that’s ruining the moment. They’re both filthy at this point, and Dean’s stomach is starting to rumble. He sighs and reluctantly pulls himself away from the bed.

“I think we need to get cleaned up,” he says, vaguely waving a hand at his midsection. “And maybe consume something other than wine.”

Castiel looks down at himself and purses his lips. “I think you may be correct.”

He swings his legs over the side of the bed and picks up Dean’s robe from the floor, sliding it over his shoulders and tying the belt around his waist.

“Hey, what I supposed to wear?” Dean complains. More because he wants Castiel naked as much as possible than because of the actual robe theft, of course. 

Castiel shrugs. “It’s your house,” he points out reasonably. “You should be comfortable walking around in it without clothes on. Whereas I,” he says smugly, “am a guest.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “So that’s how it’s going to be, huh.”

“Indeed,” Castiel says breezily, heading out the door and into the main part of the house. “Last chance to back out.”

Dean catches him around the waist and hauls him in for a kiss. “Never,” he declares.

Castiel’s eyes are twinkling, and they’re so, so blue. Dean rests his forehead against the other man’s and just breathes, memorizing this moment.

Then he pulls himself away and leads Castiel into the kitchen. “Well, since you’re the only one wearing clothes, you get to cook,” he says triumphantly. “It’s unsafe for me to be in here with nothing on. Not to mention unsanitary.”

Cas makes a face at him. “Toast it is, then,” he warns. 

Dean just smiles at him. “I’m sure it’ll be the best toast ever.”

Castiel’s shoulders shake with his laughter beneath his stolen robe. Dean joins in, overjoyed at the utter absurdity of it. 

After all that they’ve been through, all that they’ve accomplished together, standing here feels like the greatest reward imaginable. And Dean plans to treasure this gift for many years to come.

***

_Following an attempted coup by the Military Watcher, many small changes were made to the governing rules of the order of Watchers._

_Each tower took in more than one apprentice at a time, depending on the patience of the current Watcher. And once they were fully trained, they formed a rotating system that allowed for each of them to find respite from the pressure of their duties, and from the loneliness of their living situations._

_Magic also began to be taught outside of the towers. Not the complex spells, perhaps, but the smaller workings, those helpful for everyday life in the kingdom. Students could take classes in magic at the Royal University, taught by former Watchers or apprentices who decided they were better suited to a life of teaching than the life of a Watcher._

_And perhaps most famously, the rules about allowing outsiders into the towers were relaxed, following the very public romance between a certain Weather Watcher and a dashing Captain of the Royal Guard. Their story was whispered from one corner of the kingdom to the other, how they met and fell in love and together, saved the kingdom from chaos._

_Their romance also led to the development of one of the most popular spells still used today: a noise blanketing spell, to spare the Weather Watcher’s apprentices the sounds of passion that would otherwise echo through the Grey Tower during the Captain’s visits._

_The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for making it this far! I hope you had as much fun reading this as I did writing it.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr [here.](http://pomegranatedaffodil.tumblr.com/)


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